


Cruel and Unusual

by Odaigahara



Series: Tales from the Dark Side [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders is a Dark Side, Former Dark Side Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Gang Rape, Gen, I cannot emphasize enough that there will be comfort, Impersonation, Pre-Episode: Accepting Anxiety, Psychological Torture, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2020-12-09 15:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20997401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odaigahara/pseuds/Odaigahara
Summary: Virgil knew something was off as soon as he stepped out of his room. If he'd been smarter, or less desperate for food that wasn't the leftovers he'd stolen from the Light Sides, he would have turned around and gone right back in. Would have tolerated the feeling of his stomach digesting itself, would have curled up in bed until twenty-four hours had passed and not minded the headache. But he'd shaken the feeling away, instead, made soft by hanging out in the Light Side where quiet didn't always mean something terrible was around the corner.He was three feet from his room when a hand pressed over his mouth.*Pre-Accepting Anxiety:Virgil hasn't been doing very well at his job lately, and not all the Dark Sides appreciate Deceit's attempts to keep them hidden from sight.Anxiety makes a convenient scapegoat.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter and the next are almost entirely hurt, with the next two after that being the comfort. 
> 
> More detailed warnings in end notes for people who don't want spoilers.

Virgil knew something was off as soon as he stepped out of his room. If he'd been smarter, or less desperate for food that wasn't the leftovers he'd stolen from the Light Sides, he would have turned around and gone right back in. Would have tolerated the feeling of his stomach digesting itself, curled up in bed until twenty-four hours had passed and not minded the headache. But he'd shaken the feeling away, made soft by hanging out on the Light Side, where quiet didn't always mean something terrible was around the corner.

He was three feet from his room when a hand pressed over his mouth, and he bit down in sudden terror, drawing blood. His attacker yelped- Entitlement, he recognized the voice- and the Side next to him slammed Virgil into the wall, sending a bolt of pain through his head and making the world go hot and fuzzy. Rage cursed when Virgil didn't immediately get to his feet, yanking him up by the arm and dragging him down the hall, and Virgil finally came awake enough to struggle and kick. 

If he could get back to his room, barricade himself in- but it was useless. Rage and Entitlement were practiced at taking people places against their will, and Virgil already hadn't eaten in days, too paralyzed by dread of _this exact thing_ happening. Virgil was thrown to the ground in the common room, pushing himself up in the next moment- but a foot came down and sent him sprawling. Another drove into his stomach to wind him, making him gasp and choke for air, and then there were hands pulling his arms behind his back and tying them there, knees on his back forcing his face into the dirty carpet. He kept struggling, bucking against their hold and wriggling, trying to loosen the bonds, get the weight off his body, _anything, _and only froze when a sickly familiar voice snapped, "We need him _upright_, you moron!"

Malice. Virgil's breath quickened, terror squeezing his chest and stilling his limbs, because when it came to fight or flight the only option with Malice was _freeze. _Rage snickered and ground his knee into Virgil's back one last time, forcing a ragged cry out of him, then got to his feet and yanked Virgil onto his back. Virgil scrabbled upright, back pressed against the brick of the fireplace. He was surrounded by faces that ran the spectrum from eager to utterly bored, and Deceit and Remus weren't among them. Fuck. _Fuck_, this was a tribunal and he clearly wasn't going to get a say. 

Malice stepped forward first, gleefully intent like a cat who'd speared a spider in his claws, and said, "You've been naughty lately, haven't you, Anxiety?"

Virgil hunched in on himself, shaking. "Did the Elf on the _Shelf_ tell you that?" he asked, because apparently he was suicidal _and_ pathetic. Malice slapped him across the face so hard he tasted copper.

"Someone thinks he's clever," a voice in the crowd muttered, and Malice hissed out a laugh, crouching just out of Virgil's reach and eyeing him like a tasty piece of meat. 

"That's not a very nice way to address the jury," he said, and a cold trickle of dread iced its way down Virgil's spine. He really was making a production of this. In _that_ tone, with this crowd- Virgil would be hurt in front of _everyone_, nowhere to hide and no one to run to, and they would go as far as they _wanted- _

Malice was close. He was too close, fingertips pressing at the side of Virgil's mouth, and Virgil went perfectly still. His eyes, the traitors, were already stinging with tears. "That's better," Malice crooned. "Much more polite. You'll be polite for the jury, won't you? After all, we're debating whether or not you're guilty. You don't want to bias them against you."

Virgil's mouth was dry. "What's the charge?" he rasped, and a ripple of derision went through the audience.

"Well?" asked Malice, pulling his fingers from Virgil's mouth. He tried not to show his relief as Malice turned to the audience instead, cheerful like a game show host, and asked, "What _are _the charges? Does anyone want to weigh in?"

"Being a whiny little freak," someone called out, and there was a wave of snickers. 

Malice rolled his eyes and said indulgently, "That's fair, but I'm looking for something more concrete. Pride? Do you have something to add?"

"He's been appearing to Thomas for years and hasn't mentioned us once," Pride spat, and a chorus of agreements rose up.

"He's one of Deceit's little _cronies_!"

"Conspiring to hide us-"

Apathy drawled, "He's been hanging with the Light Sides," and Virgil flinched noticeably, drawing the crowd's ire. Apathy added, "Thinks he's better than us. Been on _their_ side more than ours."

Terror rose up in Virgil's chest, and he blurted out, "I'm not _against-" _before Malice kicked him in the face, snapping his head back and making something in his nose burst and bleed. The world went black for a second.

"The accused will speak when spoken to and not before," Malice said brightly. "Is that understood, Anxiety? Or do you want me to kick you again? I think this time I could really make it _stick." _Virgil shook his head mutely, flinched when Malice made to step closer. The other Side looked delighted by the response.

"The charges are as follows," he said, smirking at the others, but his gleaming eyes trained on Virgil before he continued. "Conspiracy to keep the Dark Side from influencing Thomas. Fraternization with the Light. Thinking himself _above _the rest of us. Being a whiny little _freak_. And you know, just for fun, I'm going to add failure to cause sufficient anxiety." Virgil shrank back. "Because you haven't been so successful lately, have you? Thomas ignores you at every turn. That doesn't sound like something our _representative _should do, does it?"

Malice held his gaze like he was expecting a response. Virgil's stomach twisted, but he forced out, "I'm not a representative," and someone in the crowd jeered. 

Malice gasped, "Not a representative? But you're the only one of us who sees him face to face! Are you saying you don't want to be associated with us?" and Virgil could _see _the trap, but he was already pinned, squirming in place; he was already barreling toward it.

"No! I'm not- I'm not saying that, I just- it's not like I have a choice about appearing, I'm his anxiety, it just- it happens. He summons me. I-I don't have anything against you guys, I just-"

"Just _what," _Rage snarled, stalking forward; Entitlement and Apathy moved aside as he passed, making room. "Just ignoring us? Just leaving us down here to rot while you play with your Light Side friends?"

"If Thomas doesn't _want _to know about us, he won't," Virgil said weakly, but he knew it was useless. He'd been tied up in the center of a group of angry Sides before the so-called trial had even started; this obviously wasn't going to be fair. 

"If you were a better Anxiety, he'd _want_ to know," Apathy said darkly, and that was it, his fate was sealed. "He'd be terrified _not_ to."

Virgil could taste the blood dripping from his nose, over his lips. He fell silent as Malice held up a hand along with the rest of the group and said, "Are we agreed that the verdict is _guilty_?" Murmurs of agreement mingled with appraising looks in Virgil's direction. His breath froze in his chest. "Then all that remains is to decide on a punishment. Any ideas, Rage?"

No no no no no no _no_\- "A few," the other Side said, sneering down at Virgil, "but I think we should just do what we want and see where the night goes." 

Malice brightened, grinning in Rage's direction. "I _knew_ there was a reason I liked you," he said, and then he was crouched in front of Virgil again, cupping his cheek in his hand. "What do you say, Anxiety? Will you accept your punishment? Or do you want to lodge an appeal?"

He couldn't breathe. There was a weight crushing his chest and it was all _Malice_, him and Rage and the others clustered close and waiting eagerly for more blood to spill, and Virgil couldn't fight. He didn't have room to fight. He'd just have to take whatever came and hope they left enough that he could put himself together, after. He thought he could manage that. Malice was still looking at him for an answer, so he shook his head _no, _shivering when Malice's hand traced the outline of his jaw. Malice sighed contentedly. "That's right," he breathed, and Virgil squeezed his eyes shut against fresh tears. "There's so much we could _do_. Really, I don't know where to start."

Rage came up behind him. "I'll start," he said, giving Virgil a dark smile, and he kicked him in the ribs so hard he felt something crack. Virgil cried out, choked because now he really couldn't breathe, and Rage brought his weight down again, pressing until Virgil's chest felt like it was imploding. Another stomp left him gasping, sobbing in little hitching breaths, and Rage stepped back and said like it had just occurred to him, "Wait. You wanna play with him before he gets too bad?"

Malice snickered. "You know? I think I do." He dragged Virgil upright again, holding his head so he had to meet his eyes, and said, "I expect you to behave for me, you know," brushing his finger back over Virgil's lips. "Are you going to do that?" His other hand went lower, reaching up under Virgil's shirt, and Virgil jerked back, panic and revulsion rising up in his throat. 

"Please don't," he whispered, "Malice, _please_-" Malice pinched him, and he swallowed back another cry, gasping raggedly. The other Dark Sides clustered closer, gazes fixed on them both. Virgil felt their eyes like daggers. _Pathetic, weakling, idiot, this is no more than you deserve- _"Don't, don't- _anything _else, please-"

"It's cute how you think you're calling the shots," Malice sighed, and one of his fingers pressed past Virgil's lips, brushing over his tongue. "_Suck." _Virgil tried to turn his head away, but Malice just forced him still and straddled him, _too close, _and pushed his finger farther in. "Suck," he repeated, sing-song. "Unless you'd rather they be _dry." _

_God. _Virgil sobbed, but he did as Malice asked, tried to suck on the finger he was given. Two others joined it, pressing past his tongue and into his throat, and he tried his best to coat them in saliva, whimpering when they reached too far and made him gag. Malice withdrew them after a long moment, other hand teasing at Virgil's waistband, and he whined, squirming against the weight on his legs. He couldn't move his arms, couldn't do anything to shield himself; he was wide open, defenseless, and anguish was choking up his lungs. 

"You're so good for me, Anxiety," Malice crooned, making him sob, and his lips pressed against Virgil's, tongue pushing insistently at his mouth; Virgil opened without protest, shutting his eyes against his tears, and the feel of Malice's tongue in him made him sob again. Malice bit him to draw more blood, lapping at it, then drew back and grinned with his mouth all red. "That's a nice first step," he said, and Virgil opened his eyes, sight blurry with tears. "But I think I'd like to keep going. Would you like me to keep going, Anxiety?"

Virgil wanted to curl up in a ball and never see anyone ever again. "No," he whispered, so quiet he could barely hear himself, and Malice smirked like he'd just walked into another trap.

"Are you _sure_?" he asked, and one of his hands slipped between Virgil's legs. Virgil's breath stuttered at the touch, and he tried to pull back but he _couldn't, _he couldn't move at _all- _"I can be so contrary, you know. Sometimes I just _have _to do the opposite of what someone tells me."

_Oh. _Virgil understood what Malice wanted him to do with a lurch of dread. He pressed his lips shut, staring down at the ground as tears rolled down his cheeks, but Malice pressed his hand up against him_, _the other fingering open the clasp on Virgil's jeans, and Virgil broke. "I-I'd like you to keep going," he said quietly. Malice didn't seem to hear him. His hand was slipping into Virgil's underwear. "Malice, please," he said louder, desperately, "please keep going, please-"

"Please what?" Malice asked, grinning. "You have to be specific, Anxiety. Oh, and speak up for our audience. I know they'd like to hear this, too." Virgil couldn't look past him at the group watching, couldn't stand to see Rage's blown-wide pupils or Apathy's reluctant interest, but he heard them there, saw them in his peripheral vision looming, blocking the light. 

"Please fuck me," he whispered, humiliated, and Malice looked at him expectantly. His hand was still moving, and with a burst of shame Virgil said louder, voice breaking, "Malice, please, I- I want you to fuck me."

"Just me?" he breathed, and Virgil sobbed. "That's not very _sporting, _when these are the nice judges who might go light on your sentence. Be _specific_."

"Anyone," Virgil said, staring at the ground. Someone in the audience jeered. "Anyone, please, I d-don't care who, _please- _I-I want you inside me, want to f-feel you, I, _please_-" He couldn't, he couldn't, _god, _please, just let this be over- "Fuck me, make me blow you, anything, I- I want to, I want to be," and he was sobbing so hard he couldn't get his words out, hands tied behind his back and when Malice moved off him, shoved him forward, he couldn't even cushion the fall. He just tried to push himself up with his shoulder, closing his eyes against the laughter and insults, and when Rage stepped forward again he gasped in a breath and tried to curl in on himself. Tried to protect his weakest parts.

_Useless_. He knew there was no hiding anything here.

Rage dragged him to his feet and slapped him. "Always knew you were a slut," he remarked almost casually. He slammed Virgil against the fireplace, fingers crushing his throat so he couldn't breathe, and said, "Think we'll rough you up a bit before that part of the evening, hmm? What do you think?"

"_Fuck _you," Virgil gasped out, because it didn't matter what he said at this point, they weren't going to go easy on him.

Rage's face contorted and went red, and he punched Virgil in the face, dropped him and rained down blows until his whole body was aching and he was hiding as best he could, unable to protect his face and crying out with every hit. If his ribs hadn't been broken before they were _now_, stabbing into him with every terrified breath and sending lightning bolts of pain through his chest when Rage kicked them in. Virgil felt his collarbone snap with a dizzying _crack_ and screamed.

Someone else stepped forward then."My turn, asshole, you've had him long enough. _I_ want to mark him up." Virgil couldn't see him, too busy hyperventilating and trying to catch his breath, but he recognized the voice. Jealousy's easy drawl inhabited his nightmares sometimes, joining all the other _what-ifs _that ambushed him in the dark. He froze, but couldn't stop his desperate trembling. Some terrified lizard brain instinct told him that being still was his last defense, that the predators might look him over or, failing that- that it might hurt less when he died. He forced himself to stop breathing.

"Be my guest," he heard Rage snarl after an annoyed exchange, and Jealousy hummed to himself, dropping down to catch Virgil's gaze with his poison-green eyes. They glowed as he watched him, smiling the little half-smile that meant he was about to do something _really _terrible. Jealousy summoned a knife, sliced through Virgil's shirt and hoodie and dragged them off him, left him bare and shivering. 

"Such clear pretty skin," Jealousy said, running a hand down Virgil's chest. Virgil shuddered but didn't flinch back, transfixed by that sickly green glow, that covetous look that never meant anything good. "I almost want it. I think I'll be just as happy to _ruin _it, though," and then the knife was drawing a line of fire through his skin and Virgil couldn't help it: he arched his back and screamed. Jealousy pressed it deeper, cutting past skin into muscle, and Virgil bit his tongue, tried and failed to stop screaming. His breath came in broken inhales, not fast enough to offset the dizzying pain. Jealousy dragged the blade out and surveyed his work with an unsatisfied air. "Impulsivity, go get me that fancy knife you never use," he ordered, and Virgil heard the smaller Side's rapid footsteps, growing more distant and then returning.

His sense of time returned at about the time he caught sight of Jealousy's new toy, plugged in and glowing molten orange, and then he was choking out, "God, Jel, come _on_," trying to press back against the brick like he could escape if he tried _really hard_. Jealousy didn't bother to answer; he just caught Virgil's eye, quirking his mouth like it was all a funny game and they were having a great time, and put the flat of the blade against Virgil's skin. 

His vision whited out. Virgil screamed, tried to thrash but there was nowhere to _go_, no room to escape and he could smell his own flesh cooking with an intensity that made him want to puke. Jealousy dragged the blade down his side, not even bothering to cut, and the agony sent Virgil out of his head. It wasn't him being burned alive, feeling his skin blister and scorch black as the other Sides watched; not him scattered and begging, not him sobbing for Jealousy to stop please stop I'm _sorryI'msorryI'msorry_\--

Time warped and flickered, dissolving into an endless screaming moment, cuts through his skin and fingers pulling bits back to show muscle, burns searing every nerve until he didn't have room in his mind for pain. Jealousy got _angry _when one of his fleeting obsessions fled or strayed; he knew how to make torture last, how to draw it out without killing, how to make his victims beg for another chance at his favor. 

Eventually it stopped, and Virgil shrank into himself, crying raggedly, nose dripping snot and blood. He was distantly surprised he hadn't wet himself. 

There was an argument happening. Virgil tried to pay attention to it, but his thoughts were all cut to ribbons; he blanked out, lost time, wailed when someone kicked him but didn't really register it. Words trickled in like blood down his throat. "-- not going to bleed out," Jealousy was saying. "Look, if you want him now's the chance, he'll probably pass out after this. It'll be _fun _when he does, of course, but if you want him _aware--"_

"Not much of a punishment if he sleeps through it, is it?" Malice said brightly, and Virgil couldn't back up before Malice had his fingers on his temple. The touch sent a fiery burst of adrenaline through him, and he jerked back, heart pounding into his ribs. The fog around his brain had burned away like Malice had taken a flamethrower to it. "There you are! _Fuck_, a little burn and you pass right out, don't you?"

"_What_ did you just do," Virgil gasped, throat aching, and Malice grinned with all his teeth. 

"Oh, only a little trick of mine," he said, tweaking the edge of one of Virgil's burns. He choked back another scream. "Are you ready for the fun part of the evening?"

His blood froze. He was coherent enough to recognize _that_ tone. "I- I, I'm not-"

"Full sentences or no sentences," Malice sang out. 

"Please don't let them do this," Virgil begged, staring pleadingly up at him. His voice was scratchy from screaming but he pushed it past the pain, desperate, _terrified-- _"Malice, _please, _I- I'll do better, I swear I will, I won't talk to the Light Sides at all-" Malice grinned and lowered himself down, straddling Virgil's lap and pressing a hand up between his thighs. Hysterical tears rose up and choked him. "Please stop," he whimpered, voice breaking, not daring to shrink back. He could feel Malice's fingers between his legs, god, no-

"How about a compromise," Malice said lightly. "Just to make things more interesting." He was up and off Virgil in an instant, and Virgil shuddered at the absence, flinched back from his feline gaze. Malice turned to the other Dark Sides, arms wide like a gesturing salesman, and said, "Special offer, one time only-- you can do whatever you want to Anxiety with _one exception. _After all, he's always tried to do his job, hasn't he? Might be a hopeless little emo freak, but he's too stupid to come up with any actual plots, isn't he? So let's have the judges give a more _lenient_ sentence." His grin was sharp enough to amputate. "No penetration, enforced by yours truly. Anything _else_ is fair game."

There was a pause as everyone digested the information, and Virgil was awash in violent relief. He wasn't stupid enough to think they'd actually go easy on him, just that they'd get more creative- but _no penetration_. That was- so much more than he'd expected. Malice would expect a hell of a favor later, Virgil knew he would, but the momentary gratitude couldn't be snuffed out so easily. He was burned and beaten, bleeding, and his only saving grace was a proclamation meant specifically to fuck with him and he could only feel sick, twisted _relief, _how pathetic was he-

Rage stepped forward with a showy shrug and pushed Virgil back against the fireplace with his foot, deliberately casual. His cheeks dusted as he seemed to realize how many people were watching him, but that didn't stop him from lowering himself over Virgil, pushing his head back to expose his neck. Virgil didn't struggle, knowing Rage's temper; he tried to make himself limp instead, willing and despairing like a _good_ little victim. Rage bit into his shoulder and drew blood, and Virgil sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, holding back his crying as the other Side marked him up with his mouth. Just hickeys. Not even a big deal, he'd just been _tortured, _it shouldn't even have bothered him-

Rage ground into him, hardness prodding through his jeans so Virgil could _feel _it, and for the third time that evening Virgil _broke_. "N-no, no, no-" He was pressed into the ground, injured back scraping the carpet and Rage was on top of him, grinding down and he couldn't get away, couldn't buck him off and the friction dragged arousal kicking and screaming out of him. He gasped at the unwanted reaction, trying to wriggle free, and Rage smirked down at him with pupils blown wide with lust. 

"Knew you liked it," he panted, grinding down again, and Virgil couldn't swallow a weak, whimpering cry. He wasn't here, he wasn't _here _but he was and his arms were crushed into the carpet, crushed where Rage was gripping them to steady himself as he pushed himself up against Virgil, grinding into him so he felt his excitement, just how much he was _enjoying_ this and Rage was taking one of his hands away to fumble at his zipper, no, god, _please_. "Hey, Mal, does his mouth count?"

"Afraid it does," Malice said, voice warm with glee, "but don't worry, I trust you. I know you'll get creative."

"Mmmm," Rage said, and Virgil squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn't have to see him work at himself, wouldn't have to feel the friction and know it for what it _was, _know that there was one less layer between them. Something warm wet his jeans, finally, and Virgil made a choked sob and tried to pull away, to put some distance between them, _any_, he didn't even _care_. Rage kept him pinned easily, putting more of his weight on him so he could barely twitch his hips, and he sobbed for real when sticky fingers brushed against his chest, wiped on his face and pressed between his lips. "What?" Rage asked, a growl in his voice. "You'll do it for Mal and not for me? Not even gonna clean me up after?"

Virgil took the fingers in his mouth. Bitter salt burst onto his tongue, made more bitter by how he knew what it _was_, and he gagged as the fingers pushed farther in, brushing the back of his throat. Rage kept pushing until Virgil finally tried to suck them, breathing shallow and uneven, and didn't let him go until his fingers were clean. Virgil wanted to throw up but knew it would piss Rage off even more. He swallowed instead, hating himself, and revulsion ate him from the inside out. _It's just a punishment. You did something wrong and they're making sure you don't do it again, that's all it is, god how much longer will this _last_-_

Rage rose off him and was replaced by another Side-- Entitlement, Virgil thought, but he only turned his face away, tried to keep quiet. Entitlement pushed him onto his stomach, yanked his pants down and ground up against his ass, one bare layer of underwear between them, and Virgil stifled a whimper, couldn't stifle his cry when Entitlement got rougher. Then he started pulling down Virgil's underwear, still rubbing up against him even as it was just _bare skin no no no _and Virgil gasped, "Mal, Malice, please, you promised, _please_," getting more desperate as Entitlement started to pull his legs apart. He couldn't throw him off and Entitlement's fingers were prodding at him and Virgil couldn't breathe, he _really couldn't_, there was no air in the room.

"_Entitlement_," Malice snapped, voice sharp, and the grinding slowed but didn't stop. "Entitlement, hey-- oh, you fucking moron, I've given you one warning," and then the weight was pulled off Virgil with a shout, Entitlement twisting and snarling in Malice's grip. Virgil heard someone in the crowd go '_oooh' _like a kid seeing a classmate scolded at the fucking playground, and then Entitlement was choking, wheezing in weak little breaths, and a splatter of blood sprayed across Virgil's back and the floor. Entitlement collapsed, still trying to close his throat with his fingers, before his body fell to pieces and dissolved. Virgil exhaled shakily, shivering, but didn't try to get up. He hated that he felt _grateful._

"I hate that guy," Malice sighed theatrically, and a chorus of laughs went through the gathered Sides. "But hey, looks like our new toy has just had a vacancy! Who's next?"

Jealousy stepped forward again, showily unfazed by Malice's recent murder. "I've changed my mind," he said, sending another terrified frisson through Virgil. "I'd like him before he's unconscious." He tugged Virgil's underwear back up-- Virgil gasped in relief-- and pressed something cold and sharp against the inside of his thigh. "Just for lubricant, you understand," he whispered in Virgil's ear, hot breath on the back of his neck, then dragged the tip of the blade downwards in a single slash.

Virgil choked back a scream and tried to pull away, but Jealousy just sighed like he was being difficult for no reason and did the same to the inside of his other thigh, knife so sharp it burned. "Now, Anxiety, I'd like you to do the opposite of what Entitlement wanted. Keep your legs close together, please-- just a little apart." Virgil shut his eyes, tears blurring into the carpet, and tried to do as he was told. He couldn't stop thinking of Jealousy's hands on him, his fingers, his _knives-- _but this was different, wasn't it? He could be okay with this, he could survive whatever Jealousy was going to do next.

Jealousy straddled him, yanking his hair with a fist and pushing his face into the ground. Virgil closed his eyes against the pain and tried to breathe, tried to figure out where this was going, and then there were legs locking his thighs together and something hot and hard between them. _Lubricant, _Virgil thought through his tears, _oh,_ biting his lip, and when Jealousy started to thrust he didn't cry out at all at first. The movement scraped his wounds against the rough carpet and made him muffle screams against the floor, made him sob in humiliation when another Side came forward and pushed another finger at his mouth. Virgil opened, panicking at whether he could suck without biting while Jealousy fucked his legs, but it turned out to be pointless: the fingers just went back in his throat, their owner taking delight in how Virgil choked.

Despite Malice's best efforts the world blurred, went choppy. Virgil was on his stomach- on his back- had hands in his hair as someone ground into his face- but he couldn't have said who did what, or what order they did it in. His wounds stayed open, heat still searing under his skin at the burns and blood, mixing with semen and saliva all over him as they marked him up. Eventually he realized the ringing in his ears was screaming, begging, that he was crying out for _RomanPattonLoganThomas _like he'd ever actually want them there, begging for the others to stop, to take a break, to let him see his friends again _please he just wanted a break where is everyone? Where's Deceit where's Remus what's happening--_

Apathy dragged his head back by the hair, shoved him back against the fireplace so he whined, head lolling without permission. "You're actually calling for them like you'll think they'll come?" he asked, as incredulous as he could sound. "You want them to fuck you, too, don't you?" His grip tightened until Virgil nodded, sobbing silently and trying to be even quieter, and Apathy said, "I think I'm sick of your screaming. Mal, what happens after this?"

"Don't call me Mal," Malice snapped. "Only some people can call me Mal-- and Anxiety, because I like to be on first-name basis with my victims. Do you want to be a victim?" Apathy quieted, shook his head, and Malice added, "I'll put him in one of the empty rooms, leave him there for two weeks. Anxiety, are you listening?" Virgil tried to open his eyes and focus, tried to show he was _willing please he was he was_\- Malice spoke slow like he was talking to an idiot, hands on his knees. "You're going to be put in Addiction's old room," he said, and Virgil's heart leaped. "You're going to stay there for two weeks, and you aren't going to leave. You aren't going to eat or drink anything, either, do you understand?" A weak nod. "If you can last those two weeks before you die, your punishment will be over. We'll forgive you," and now Virgil was crying harder, shaking, because he knew what was coming next. "But anyone who comes in there, Anxiety? You're their toy. You have to do what they say. I'll keep enforcing my rule, but if you're difficult I might have trouble doing that. Nod if you understand." Virgil did, flinching when Malice patted his head. He wanted _Thomas_. He wanted- he wanted- "Good boy. I know you'll learn your lesson after this. There's just one more thing, and then you can go."

Malice put Virgil on his back and ordered Apathy, "Hold his head down," summoned something thin and sharp and straddled Virgil, pinning his hips and legs. "I got really tired of your screaming," he confided, "and you aren't going to need your mouth for the next two weeks, are you? You promised not to talk to the Light Sides, didn't you? So really, this is symbolic." The needle pressed against the edge of Virgil's lip, threaded with metal wire, and Virgil tried to scream as it drew through his skin, couldn't open his mouth for the pull at the edge. He forced himself to stop struggling as much as he _could_, lay still and shaking as the wire pulled his lips shut and filled his mouth with blood. Malice tied the wire off, using a burst of power to meld the ends together that made Virgil whine at the proximity, then sat back and surveyed his work. 

Malice grinned, satisfied, and Virgil felt shame rise up thick in his throat; it tasted like blood and bile and semen. He still cried, aching shoulders hitching even as he closed his eyes. Around him the other laughed, sneered, prodded him with their feet as they went back to their rooms, but he barely registered them.

_You deserved this. Not a good enough Anxiety, not strong enough, not remembering your place- what did you think would happen? Whose fault is this but your own?_

They dragged him to Addiction's old room, grayed-out since he'd disappeared. The room was cold and unfurnished, floor chill from deadly absence, and it felt like icy fire on Virgil's skin. He choked out a muffled scream from behind his stitches, but the others didn't stick around; they shut the door with a final slam and left him in darkness.

_Nothingness_. Virgil tried to breathe past the block in his throat, tried to pull himself upright, but he wasn't strong enough, he couldn't make himself move. He curled up as tight as he could, hands numb behind his back, and pushed his face into the floor to cry into one of his shoulders. Aftershocks ran through him in vicious tremors, and each time the terror forced him awake, adrenaline needling him back to miserable awareness as his instincts turned against him.

It was a long time before he finally passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter includes a graphic depiction of rape/torture, specifically: intercrural sex, finger sucking, unwanted grinding, groping, someone having his mouth sewn shut, casual murder, serious burns, knife wounds, public humiliation, and being tied up for long periods.
> 
> It's... not a fun time.
> 
> Also: I know it's embarrassing to comment on explicit fic sometimes, but I really do appreciate them, so if you can bring yourself to comment, please do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings at end notes. There's, uh. A lot.
> 
> Next chapter is plot with comfort.

Virgil breathed. In, out, 4-7-8. Over and over again until he was lightheaded, thoughts swimming, unable to twitch his deadened fingers. When he closed his eyes, the tear of the stitches at his lips forced them open in a panic. He could barely see in the dark room, though he'd been stuck in there at least thirty minutes. Probably longer, depending on how long he'd been passed out. 

His hair was sticky; so were parts of the floor. Virgil took in the information numbly, telling himself firmly not to cry, and finally tried to pull himself upright. Not much point getting to his feet, but-- if he could put his back against the wall. If he could make it so he could see the door, see who came in now that he was awake-- he was shaking again, hyperventilating, anxiety darkening the room and it didn't matter, it _didn't_, except it had to be affecting Thomas somehow. He had to be good at his job. He could be good at his job. He just had to calm down and get his back against the wall, and it would be okay.

Jealousy had stripped off bits of skin, burned a whole swathe down his side, and cut deep enough to hit muscle. The wounds had bled sluggishly while he'd been passed out, the burns darkening and blistering into seeping patches, and movement made them bleed worse. Virgil cried out through the stitches, pain making his vision gray, but he managed to drag himself to the wall, managed to face the door. He could feel fresh blood dripping off his chin. 

Virgil watched the door for nearly an hour, petrified that someone had been attracted by the sound, before he could force himself to relax. It wouldn't do any good to be tense, right? Not if someone did come in. The best thing to do was cooperate so he could last two weeks. He just had to last two weeks. 

Virgil wasn't sure he could last another hour, and he hadn't even had any visitors yet. The room was cold, the floor colder, and he was still shirtless. He'd lost what felt like half the blood in his body. He felt like he was made of little shards of glass, put together but not glued, and as soon as someone came in and touched him he would go flying apart. 

Two weeks. That meant Deceit might come back, right? Because it hadn't sounded like Malice had thought he might walk in, and they were punishing Virgil in part because he'd listened to Deceit... wouldn't he have had something to say about that, if he were around? Wouldn't Remus- Virgil didn't even _like_ him, but...

_In, out. Breathe, don't send this to Thomas, just _breathe. Virgil couldn't stop shivering. Deceit was probably dead, had probably been killed because they wanted to punish Virgil, and if Deceit was dead so was Remus. They wouldn't be coming back for at least a few days. After that, maybe one of them would visit, would be- be _gentle_, or something. If the alternative was one of the others, Virgil would take Remus too close to him any day, maybe touching him or rutting against him but not, surely it wouldn't be as _bad_-

Deceit. Think of Deceit. Deceit wasn't violent. If he came in, he'd probably be mad since Virgil had gotten punished in the first place, but he might not do much more than taunt. Virgil wouldn't have to wait two weeks for Deceit to come in. He just had to last a few days, and then he might get a break with one of them before things got worse. Maybe he could close his eyes while Remus played with him and pretend it was Roman instead, beg Deceit with his eyes until he was one of the Light Sides and have him do whatever he wanted then, so Virgil could pretend it was Logan or Patton, someone who might not hurt him so bad.

God, he was pathetic. This was his own fucking fault, he didn't have to daydream about ways out of it. That was Princey's thing. And what would the Light Sides even think of him if they knew their dark and stormy _villain _had fantasized about them while he was tied up in the dark? If they knew he'd hoped to pretend it was _them _using him, them torturing him, because at least then maybe it would be bearable?

Virgil shut his eyes and changed the daydream to his room instead, dark and covered in cobwebs, warm and secure and perfectly _his, _something none of the others could touch. He wasn't here. He was in bed, under the covers, and he had headphones on. They were playing- fuck, he couldn't think of- they were playing My Chemical Romance. Something viciously despairing, loud enough that it shook through his bones and drowned out every thought in his head. Virgil forced himself still, threw himself completely into the daydream. Breathed 4-7-8 and made his muscles relax.

His body was cold. Okay, then he had his blanket off. (_But nobody cares if you're losing yourself-) _He was in bed and the TV wasn't playing, but he could feel his headphones pressing against his ears, playing music. He had to focus on the music, guitar so rough it shredded through everything else. (_Or lethal injection-) _Who was playing- Mikey Way? Some other guitarist? It didn't matter. All that mattered was that Thomas wasn't shaking as much, wasn't jittery for no reason and halfway to bursting into tears, wasn't like Virgil. 

_To your room, what they ask of you- well, I don't remember- _Virgil didn't _remember_-from the beginning, what were the lyrics- _too much, too late, or just not enough of this-_

The door opened, and Virgil's mind blanked. He went perfectly still like that would even _save _him, like he wasn't the only thing in the room, and Impulsivity glanced over at him and lit up like a kid at Christmas. Virgil _hated_ Impulsivity. He didn't think about anything for more than five seconds, he didn't have any concept of other people or what they might want, and he mostly survived by letting Jealousy cart him around like an accessory and doing whatever the other Side said. He was like one of those asshole kids who poured salt on snails just to see them die, cruel without thinking. Virgil tried to stop shivering as the other Side came closer, glared furiously up at him like defiance would help- but Impulsivity sat across from him, leaning in. 

"Huh. That's a lotta stitches. You shouldn't have screamed so much, it was really annoying. I woulda made you stop, too." Impulsivity's voice was bright and rambling, but his gaze kept flicking down at Virgil's crotch and bare chest, intent and curious. Virgil flinched when he reached out to touch, but Impulsivity only moved closer and stuck a hand onto one of the _burns_-

Virgil screamed through the stitches and threw himself back, tears in his eyes. Impulsivity blinked and grinned. "That's kinda funny. You're like a little worm, you know? All squirmy on the sidewalk. I'm glad you're being punished right now. I don't usually get to do stuff like this." Virgil tried to hiss even though it pulled at his mouth, but the change in his expression didn't deter Impulsivity at all. The other Side moved closer, running a hand down Virgil's chest, and rubbed his thumb over the bone of his shoulder, grabbed his upper arm and yanked him forward. Virgil whimpered at the wrench to his collarbone, felt teeth on his shoulder and forced back a cry as they sank in. He bit the inside of his cheek at the same time, tasting even more blood, and Impulsivity leaned back with a faint frown. "You're not making as much noise as I thought you would."

Virgil hoped for a second that he would just leave, the impulse to visit falling away as soon as it had appeared, but Impulsivity came closer instead, putting Virgil's back against the wall. He wrestled his own pants off, then his underwear- Virgil looked away- then settled into Virgil's lap, hot and close and _horrible. _Virgil squeezed his eyes shut as Impulsivity started to thrust against him, grinding himself up against Virgil's waist, forcing friction. Virgil's breath stuttered as the grind got harder and he started to get aroused, a whine dragging from his throat as Impulsivity groaned and pressed against him, rocking his hips. The motion sent pain rocketing through Virgil's wounds, but Impulsivity didn't stop when he sobbed- he started grinding deeper, panting, looking almost dumbfounded at Virgil's reactions and starting to grin. He shoved Virgil against the wall when he came, dragging another scream free, and stayed on top of him, giggling, as Virgil tried to breathe. "I think I like this," he whispered, confiding, and Virgil only sobbed without noise, kept his eyes shut and shrank back. He could feel hot breath on his face. _"Funny."_

Impulsivity pressed his thumb into Virgil's collarbone _just _at the break, and Virgil thrashed and screamed, threw his head back trying to get away. It was white-hot, arcing through him like a bolt of lightning, but he couldn't get away, Impulsivity was holding him down and pressing harder and god, it was tearing Virgil _apart-_

He blacked out, and when he woke up he was alone.

Tears were streaked down his face, and he was lying sideways on the ground. For a long moment he laid there shaking, crying into the floor, but he pulled himself up in the end, head swimming. He curled up in the farthest corner from the door, sick at the warm patch on his jeans, and pulled his knees up to his chest. It put his arms at a weird angle, pulled at his collarbone in a bright spot of agony, but he could curl his shoulders in and bury his face in his knees, make himself as small as possible. Scatterbrained terror told him that if he couldn't see the door, no one coming through would see him. It was stupid, he _knew_ it was, but that didn't make the fear go away. It just bubbled up, boiling through him like the fire under his burns. It scalded the thoughts out of his head and left stupid terror behind.

_Prey animal_. That was Virgil, the constant feeling of something wrong, of being watched, of _danger_. But there was no escape for him. Fear was pointless now, wasn't it? Extraneous, ha, that was a big word Logan would like. He knew there was danger, he knew they'd come in and he wouldn't be able to stop them hurting him, he didn't have the right or the _ability_ to stop them- he didn't _need_ to be afraid. It made everything so much worse, _god_, why did he have to be _afraid_-

He was sobbing, muffled and choked through his sewn-closed mouth, trying to keep quiet and failing like he failed at _everything_. Like he failed at helping Thomas, at helping Deceit, at getting the Light Sides not to hate him and _god_ he wanted them not to hate him, he shouldn't have cared but he _did_ and he wanted his allies his friends his _host_ please he wanted _Thomas_, please-

He tried to flicker out but couldn't, he already _knew_ he couldn't, Malice wouldn't _let_ him. He knew but he kept trying, kept picturing Thomas' apartment and the Light Side common room and even Deceit's room, Remus', anyone's, kept throwing his power at it even though it felt like eating himself through with acid. With Deceit dead- was he dead?- Malice was the next most influential, and he had the entire Dark Side locked down. Virgil wouldn't be getting out. Couldn't get out, even, because where would he go? 

Up to Thomas, who hated him? To the Light Sides who tolerated him at best, when he wasn't annoying or depressing them? Out into the hallway, running handicapped and injured until someone decided it'd be more fun to teach him a lesson out there, decided he didn't deserve to be free after he died? They'd slit his throat and watch him bleed, wait until he'd barely come back, muzzy and feeble, to kill him again and again and _again_-

When Rage came in, he didn't fight. He stayed still and compliant, shaking and teary, and didn't resist when he was pulled forward, when Rage worked his zipper loose. He only stared past him at the blank wall and waited for Rage to finish, to get bored and drop him and leave. He couldn't stop himself from crying harder when Rage kicked at his ribs on his way out, but- couldn't win them all. And at least Rage had gone, right? And Virgil hadn't passed out.

More Sides, more pain. Virgil kept his eyes shut, kept all his terror inside, away from Thomas, and shook himself apart.

*

By the third day hunger hurt him as much as the wounds did, and he spent his time stretched between the two pains, feeling like he was coming apart at the seams. The stitches had scabbed over, dry blood flaking off whenever another Side made the wounds open. Virgil had to pull his power in close, forcing himself alive and together when it felt like his body wanted to start giving up. He didn't know how he was going to last two weeks.

The Sides that came through the door bled together, a haze of faces that weren't quite Thomas' and groping hands, knives and blows and vicious lust. Virgil glared but didn't fight them, lost the energy to glare, stopped responding completely except when particularly sharp agony tore him out of his head. Sometimes Malice visited, taunting and delighted, and forced Virgil awake and aware. Sometimes it was Impulsivity, or Apathy, or _AvaricePrideGreed_\- all together or apart, Virgil couldn't tell. 

He kept slipping into daydreams, hazy images of the Light Sides or parts of Thomas' life, snippets of videos they'd made and trickles of light and shadow. He slept shallowly, in bits and pieces, and woke up convinced there were scorpions skittering just out of view, lights dancing on the ceiling, people sitting and talking nonsense out of his line of sight. His body felt like it was on fire one second, deadly cold the next, and he lay still and shivered, certain something huge was standing above him with its jaws open wide. Most of the Sides coming in didn't care that he was too delirious to react; some of them made it worse, pushing with their own powers to make him something other than scared or blank-eyed and only making him draw away from keeping himself alive to try to lash out in self-defense. Then they pinned him down until he stopped fighting, and his thoughts scattered again, and he-

He-

-thought it had been a week, maybe, by the first time Jealousy came in. Virgil was pressed back against the wall, head slumped and not even shaking, barely sweating and gulping in little desperate gasps because it felt like every breath might be his last. His wrists were skinnier, his body black with bruises and caked grime. He heard the footsteps come in but didn't recognize them until Jealousy was right there, cool hand tipping his chin up and making him meet his gaze. Jealousy's eyes glowed green like poison, sickly green, _radioactive_ green, but Virgil was too out of it to remember why he wasn't supposed to look into them so closely. The poison drew him out, catching at some thread of consciousness and loosening the entire web so it all fell forward, straight into the space behind his eyes- and he choked out a cry and threw himself back, tried to hide in his knees. _Awareness, _he- he didn't, didn't want- how long had it been, didn't he have another week? What was happening to Thomas?

Jealousy smiled indulgently and said, slow and patient like he was talking to a recalcitrant pet, "There you are. It took you long enough to respond, you know." Virgil stared at him, sick with horror, and Jealousy reached out to touch his jaw, trace along his cheekbones. "You've had a hard time lately," he said, and Virgil sobbed, too dehydrated for tears. "Let me take care of you, won't you?" He smiled, and it sent a bolt of utter terror through Virgil's chest. "It's better to ask forgiveness than permission, I'm told. And I _love_ having things no one else can touch."

_No, _came the anguished thought, _no no no that's the last thing please, _like he had a right to it, to any part of him while he wasn't even considered a person. Virgil pulled back anyway, shaking his head even though it hurt and staring pleadingly, begging with his eyes. _Do what everyone else has, hurt me, torture me, please, but if you do this I don't know if I'll come _back_, please don't-_

"So dramatic," Jealousy sighed. "Do you get that from Creativity?" Virgil whined low in his throat, hoarse from screaming, but Jealousy didn't falter; he tugged Virgil's underwear off methodically, brushed his thumb along the tip of Virgil's cock and smiled softly at the terrified sound he made in response. "You probably can't be aroused at this point, but that's all right. This is supposed to be a punishment, after all." 

He reached down, squeezing Virgil's arm hard enough to bruise when he tried to squirm away, and slipped a finger between his thighs, ran it along the edge of Virgil's entrance. The feeling made him shudder and sob harder, but Jealousy only hummed and pushed in, shoving past the tension and making Virgil scream. It was- his fingers were _in _him, dry and agonizing, and he tried to buck up, tried to get away, please- Jealousy held him down with his weight and slipped a second finger in, pulling them apart to stretch Virgil out. A third finger made Virgil go still, shaking and sobbing, _keening, _but it was when Jealousy stopped that he really panicked. He didn't, he couldn't, he _knew _he couldn't stand it but that didn't matter, this was _never_ his choice-

Jealousy quirked his mouth and pulled off his own pants, moved back down and spread Virgil's knees. Virgil whined and tried to pull them back together or even kick, anything, but he was barely strong enough to struggle at all. Jealousy licked his fingers and rubbed them over himself, poison eyes warm. "This will hurt," he said like he cared, "but I'm sure you can handle it, Anxiety." Virgil shook his head desperately, still crying and wishing he was still hallucinating, that Jealousy hadn't pulled him back. 

No no _no_\- Jealousy spread his legs further and canted up his hips, and Virgil felt something _hot _slide into him, splitting him apart. He screamed past the stitches, thrashing, but it kept going farther in, Jealousy pinning him down and sinking all the way down with a pleased sigh.

Virgil couldn't breathe. He _couldn't_, and he could feel Jealousy's cock in him and the stretch was unbearable, no lubricant and hardly any preparation- Jealousy twitched his hips, and it sent nerves jangling all through Virgil's body, made him sob like he was dying. "Shhh," Jealousy whispered, shifting slightly again- Virgil couldn't wriggle loose, couldn't stop feeling it _throbbing_ in him- and then he started to move.

Every thrust was agony, hitting something deep in Virgil and knocking the thoughts out of his head, dragging ragged sounds from his throat. Jealousy was panting over him, _in him, _and Virgil couldn't make himself quiet, couldn't go away in his head, Jealousy had snared his mind like a rabbit and he was trapped in monstrous awareness as the other Side rutted into him, the thick slide of his cock something obscene, intolerable, inescapable, oh god please just let him pass out he didn't _care_-

"You're so _tight_," Jealousy panted, and Virgil wanted to die. "I love being the first to have something- and you love giving it to me, don't you, Anxiety?" He thrust in harder, hitting that same spot and making Virgil scream. "Such a _sweet _little thing," Jealousy crooned, and Virgil barely heard the door open, couldn't contextualize the sound if he tried. Jealousy kept murmuring the same insults and endearments, amused and delighted by the sounds he forced past Virgil's stitches, and each one pushed past all Virgil's ruined defenses and stuck because it was _true. _He was aroused without meaning to be so he _did_ love it so he _was_ a slut, and something in his mind whispered _cognitive distortion, _but every other part was too busy crying to listen. Jealousy wrapped his hand around Virgil's cock and stroked until his vision whited out, shame rushing in thick and furious to replace the terrible, momentary _pleasure_.

"_So _good for me," Jealousy groaned. His rhythm stuttered next, and he came inside Virgil, warmth releasing in him and making him wail. When Jealousy pulled out he didn't even scream at the roughness, only tried to pull himself upright and away, tried to close his legs. Jealousy held him down, though, so Virgil went still instead, glassy and refusing to meet his eyes. "We're not done quite yet," Jealousy said, and cold resignation seeped through Virgil's body. "_Really_, Anxiety. Did you think we were?"

"Did you think you weren't?" came Malice's voice from behind them, acidic and utterly enraged, and Virgil was so far gone he actually sobbed in relief, using Jealousy's surprise to drag himself back and away, out of immediate reach. Jealousy leaped to his feet, summoning clothes for himself in an instant, and held his hands up like a surrender- and Malice stalked forward, eyes sparking with rage, and snarled, "_What_ did I say?" 

"No penetration," Jealousy said, a trifle nervously. "But surely you can understand- no one else was going to, and he's been here for a week, I thought- you _know _I want what no one else can have-" Malice's glare worsened and he went silent, mouth closing with a click. 

"Get _out _before I tear out your tongue and make you deepthroat it," Malice hissed, a snarl distorting his voice. "But don't think I won't deal with you _later."_ Jealousy fled immediately, footsteps clattering down the hall and door slamming shut behind him, and Virgil shrank into himself when Malice turned his way, new terror cutting into him like shards of ice. He was shaking harder than ever, completely naked and tied up and Malice would think it wasn't even an issue now, wouldn't he, was going to pull his legs apart and use him until there was nothing left, no pieces to put back together, and Virgil had stopped breathing completely, was hyperventilating but it wasn't enough not _enough_, and Malice was getting _closer_-

He squeezed his eyes shut when Malice approached, gasping in weak little sobs and flinching whole-body when he heard the steps stop- but Malice stumbled, the sound making Virgil jerk his head up, and barely caught himself on hands and knees. He was shaking, Virgil realized, tiny trembles through all his muscles like they couldn't hold his weight, and he'd only barely put the pieces together when Malice choked out, "_Virgil," _and collapsed into Deceit. 

Virgil almost lurched forward, desperate to help, but Deceit held up a hand and he cringed back with an unwilling whimper. He didn't- Deceit was here as Malice, sure, but that didn't mean anything good, did it, he might be just as mad and Jealousy had made sure Virgil was- was _prepped-_

Deceit pulled himself up into a kneel, sallow-faced and shaking, and said, sounding wrecked, "We should have at least a few hours." Virgil took a deep breath and tried to focus, to hold the idea in his mind that Deceit probably would be nicer than everyone else had been, then looked up at Deceit- he couldn't say anything, what was he supposed to _do_\- and started crying when he moved forward, jerking back and curling into himself. Deceit froze, paling even further, and said, "I'm not- that is, I _am- " _He took a deep breath, steadying. "You should believe that I'm not going to hurt you. You've been useful. You're one of the only ones I'd ever let into the real world. You should believe that I wouldn't risk losing the trust of my best pawn over something as petty as _personal gratification." _Virgil went still, watching him carefully. It... made sense. It made sense that Deceit wouldn't hurt him, at least not using this face, and if he really had just come back he was probably barely strong enough to move as it was...

He still flinched when Deceit tried to touch him at first, then steeled himself and moved forward, going still and obedient when Deceit's hand ghosted along his chest. He didn't care, he _didn't_, he knew Deceit wanted him relatively okay and if he wanted payment for that now it wasn't like Virgil was able to stop him.

Deceit whispered, horrified, "I'm not sorry," tripping over the lie like he wasn't sure he could handle it, and pulled off his cloak to drape it around Virgil's shoulders. The warm weight hit Virgil like a freight train; he whined out a sob past the stitches, suddenly desperate for any contact, and Deceit faltered then pulled him closer, arms wrapping lightly around Virgil's shoulders. Virgil buried his face in Deceit's shoulder and cried. 

He was that lukewarm temperature that came from being half snake and kind of bony, and the brush of scaled hands on Virgil's skin was so _different_. He couldn't mistake Deceit's touch for anyone else's, not with those scales. He huddled into him, filthy and terrified and ashamed, and felt Deceit swallow, felt him start to pull back. Virgil sobbed- he was _leaving_\- but Deceit only steadied him and murmured, "Of course I'm leaving now. It's not like I haven't actually _accomplished_ anything yet." His hands stayed on Virgil's shoulders even as another pair reached behind him.

Virgil felt the cold touch of a knife and panicked, trying to jerk away. "Stay still," Deceit hissed, and a second later he felt the rope slacken and fall away. Deceit pulled Virgil's hands forward, carefully gripping his wrists, and rubbed at them with a flicker of power. Virgil felt a prickle of sensation and choked out an incredulous sound, trying to twitch them forward, but Deceit stopped him. "Not yet," he ordered. Virgil thought the other Side might be crying. "I'm going to clean you up, and I won't touch you any more than is necessary for that. Do you understand?"

A weak nod. Virgil felt a third pair of arms pull the cloak away- "Obviously permanent," Deceit whispered when he panicked, "it's not like you'll get it back soon,"- and pull a wet cloth across his face, rubbing semen from his cheeks and blood from his mouth. He closed his eyes as the cool towel moved across his face and through his hair, taking a week's worth of abuse with it; it was the best thing he'd ever felt, and he couldn't stop hitching in little sobs, leaning into the touch. It moved down his neck, across his shoulders and chest, cleaning his wounds as another hand pressed something searing cold against his burns. Virgil cried out weakly at the freezing pain, but Deceit forced him steady and held the ice against him until the heat leached out from the wounds and took half the pain with it. The cloth continued on its trail down Virgil's back and sides, his blue-tinged twitching hands, and pulled along his legs, down to his shins and feet before Deceit gave him an apologetic expression and said, "I'll need you to spread your legs."

Panic hit like a bullet. Virgil flinched back against the wall, terror wrapping its fist around his heart- no, please, couldn't Deceit clean him a little more first _please- _before he heard Deceit talking, voice smooth and soothing, radiating confidence: "Of course I'm not going to rape you," he said, "do you remember what I told you about usefulness? It would be against my _nature_, Anxiety. There would be no point." Virgil paused, staring up at him warily, and he added, oddly choked, "I only want to help you clean up. Will you let me help you, Virgil?"

Virgil nodded, another sob rising in his throat, and moved his legs apart. Deceit pulled him upright by the hands, guiding him to a kneeling position, and carefully dipped a clean cloth between Virgil's legs. The cool touchmade Virgil's breath hitch, but Deceit was true to his word, weirdly enough; he cleaned the semen from between Virgil's thighs, coaxing them wider when he had to, and drew back when he was finished without any extra fanfare. Virgil looked away, chest clenching with shame, when he was done; Deceit didn't grab his chin and make him return his gaze, didn't keep him from hiding his face. Instead he rasped, "You're welcome," tentative and horrified, and wrapped his cloak back around Virgil's shoulders, clasping it and folding him so it covered him completely, legs and all. Virgil curled into it, relieved at the warmth and the _cover, _and Deceit's expression darkened.

Trepidation flickered through Virgil, and he tightened his hold on the cloak. He was- was he going to take it away? But _please_, he couldn't, it was so warm and Virgil was so _cold_...

"I'm sorry I can't get you actual clothes at the moment," Deceit said, interrupting his spiraling thoughts, "but I _didn't_ only regenerate an hour ago, and I am _not_ still rather weak." One of his hands reached up to touch the stitches across Virgil's mouth, the other four hidden away again, and he said, "I'll summon a wire cutter after we're there, once I have the strength."

_There?_ Virgil blinked at Deceit, not daring to hope, and Deceit said slowly, "Remus is still dead, and our rooms are obvious locations that neither of us is currently equipped to defend. We can't spend time in the real world without Thomas catching on. That said, there are a number of places on the Light Side that can be added onto, or that are not commonly traversed. At least one rarely-used closet that I know of. And I am _not _capable of casting illusions." Virgil stared, then shook his head. He couldn't hide out on the Light Side like a fucking _rat, _like it wasn't horrible to live in someone's house without them knowing, like it wouldn't make him even more creepy and _pathetic_-

"If you see any alternatives I'd love to hear them," Deceit said harshly, then held up a hand to his ear like Virgil could possibly answer. Virgil managed a weak glare as he waited. "No? No suggestions? _Wonderful_. Because until Remus regenerates and we can all hide out in his portion of the Imagination or literally _any_ area that won't immediately try to kill us, the Light Side is our only option."

But Malice would be _angry_ when he found out what had happened, Virgil thought, reality crashing down on him. Even if they hid out until Remus came back, the other Dark Sides could still gang up on them. Virgil wouldn't have completed two weeks, he'd still be _punished_ and Deceit would probably be punished with him. He started shaking his head hard, shaking in general, and Deceit actually snarled at him, hissing so low that it made him go still on instinct alone. That was a sound that meant _danger _clear as day. "Don't be ridiculous. Every rule here is a construct created by the strong to control those weaker than them. Malice is under no obligation to keep to any promises he makes to you, and he would harm both of us either way, as he already has. Whatever he told you is irrelevant. You've been damaged _enough_."

_But you don't even have a plan_, Virgil wanted to cry. _You're just panicking too, guilty for some reason even though it's my fault, it's always my fault and if you leave now I'll be fine, I swear._

Deceit's power was all around them, so thick Virgil almost thought he could see it. Deceit looked at him, mismatched eyes gleaming with power as he took back control of their half of the Mindscape, and said softly, "It doesn't take a liar to know you're lying to yourself right now, Virgil. This isn't your call to make."

Virgil subsided. He was so tired, and if Deceit thought he'd done enough- if he had some kind of plan, some way for this to be okay- who was Virgil to disagree? He went pliant when Deceit pulled him close, leaning into the arms wrapping around him. His whole body hurt, and he was so _hungry_. It was getting harder and harder to keep his thoughts coherent. 

Deceit was there. He was an asshole sometimes and always made convoluted plans even when there was no reason to make them, but he was holding Virgil close and he'd cleaned him, had a use for him, wanted him to be okay...

Virgil slumped, letting Deceit take more of his weight, and closed his eyes as the world shifted around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Includes: graphic and non-graphic rape, panic attacks, starvation, hallucinations, and rape aftermath.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deceit was accustomed to anger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically same trigger warnings as previous chapters, since this mostly deals with the aftermath. 
> 
> Posted at about 2 AM, so expect minor edits for grammar/flow later on.

Deceit was accustomed to anger: it ate at him when his plans failed or the other Dark Sides tried to break through, made him snarl with frustration when people didn't act how they were supposed to. It was a companion of his, close and trustworthy, and he could rely on it to push fear into something manageable when he needed it to, to let him posture to maintain his position. Anger, satisfaction, irritation, wariness: those were the emotions he kept in his repertoire. Everything else could be summoned as needed, faked if necessary. 

He had never before understood what it meant to see _red_. 

Virgil had passed out as soon as they'd risen to the Light Side, and Deceit had bundled him into the little-used upstairs linen closet immediately, wrapping him in fabric and trying to cushion his head. There wasn't a single patch of his skin that wasn't either bruised, burned, or cut to pieces, and his ribs were stark in his chest. His eyeshadow was gone completely, the rest of it wiped off after a week's worth of abuse, and without it, Virgil looked... younger. More vulnerable. And his mouth was still sewn shut, and Deceit couldn't even fix that on his own, could he? He'd barely had the energy to bring them up here in the first place.

By all rights, he should have stayed in his room for three more days at least, to give himself time to regenerate completely. He should have succumbed to the dragging emptiness in his chest and slept, coming back to the world of the living by degrees. But they were Dark Sides; it was rare that any of them had the luxury to resurrect fully. If Deceit had given in to the temptation, Virgil would have spent another three days in that frozen room, cowering from the door at every creak and being torn apart at the others' leisure just for doing his _job. _For keeping the others secret like he was supposed to. After all, Anxiety's purpose- however warped by paranoia- was to _protect._ Especially from influences like their fellow Dark Sides_._

Deceit's room amplified the conversations in the hallway so Deceit could spy on whoever passed. He'd woken up, bleary and weak as a newborn, and had caught snatches of the others laughing as they discussed their newest _plaything_. As they described how he screamed, how thin and weak he'd gotten, how entertaining it was to drive him to hysterics and watch the shadows on the walls go mad as he blindly lashed out. It hadn't taken a genius to realize who they'd been talking about.

_Virgil_. Contemptuous, sarcastic, stupidly loyal Virgil, who rolled his eyes but went along with Deceit every time because he could never think of a better scheme. Virgil who was constantly anxious, who fretted over every possibility, who quoted song lyrics with a rueful smirk that said he knew just how pretentious he was being. 

He brought Deceit a gift every Christmas, little sarcastic presents that they both pretended were meant only as insults. He slinked after Deceit to glare at anyone giving him trouble, fussed over him whenever he'd spent too long in Virgil's room, hunched his shoulders and hissed whenever he lost an argument. He'd once stolen Thomas' deodorant to give to Remus, and he didn't even _like_ Remus. 

Virgil had to be the most harmless of all of them. Always on the defensive, always prickly and snarling but never actually lashing out, soft at the edges even as the rest of them grew fangs- of course Malice had targeted him first, for his farce of a public condemnation. Of course Malice had gone after the weakest of them, the gentlest, the most careful by nature. 

And Virgil had trusted Deceit immediately, when he'd dropped his disguise. Such an idiot. How could he know that Deceit hadn't planned the whole thing? That he hadn't chosen to break Virgil so he could build him up _himself, _play the savior and condition him to obey without question, make it so Virgil owed him so much that he could never escape? What reason could Virgil _possibly_ have to trust someone who'd already failed him once?

But he'd leaned into Deceit's touch. He'd spread his legs, had moved closer and gone still, had stared up at him with that faint, damnable hope in his eyes. Like he'd thought Deceit could make things _better_. Like Deceit had _convinced_ him somehow, and oh, what an accomplishment _that_ was, to get Virgil to go along with his instructions when he was delirious from trauma! Deceit was so proud of himself for that one he could _burst. _

Deceit left his cape with Virgil and closed the closet door carefully, so that it wouldn't creak. He used a burst of power to make it look untouched- _don't look here there's no reason to- _and stumbled to the ground, vision blurring. For a moment his ears rang, and his vision fuzzed out completely, and it was only himself that he could sense, muzzy and frayed at the edges. Not all the way back nor all the way healed. He could still taste blood in his throat from where they'd slit it. 

Deceit forced himself to his feet, barely catching himself on the wall, and thought, _dark under the eyes, bangs over the face, shadows and snarling and biting nerves. __H__unched like a preemptive attack, all in casual black, smiles with a quirk of the lips and glares with his whole body, mangled and _crying_-_

He broke out of the trance with a jolt and felt stitches when he brought a hand to his mouth. Bile rose in his throat; he banished the false wounds with another flare of power, and his vision wavered again, spots dancing at the corners of his sight. It didn't matter. All that mattered was getting downstairs, to the version of Thomas' first aid kit that existed in the Mindscape, so he could _fix this. _He was self-preservation. It wasn't like this was his entire _job _or anything.

He moved carefully, lightheaded and leaning on the railing for support. The Light Side Commons were dark and motionless; it must have been close to three in the morning. _Perfect_.

The kitchen was empty and dark, and its cabinets eventually yielded a first aid kit. Deceit managed to find scissors in another part of the room, but they were too dull to use on metal wire, however much he wished otherwise; they would only slip and hurt Virgil more, and likely not even cut through the wire in the first place. He scowled at the kitchen as a whole and dug through the drawers for straws, grabbing chicken broth from the pantry. Perhaps he could get something in Virgil, to ensure he wouldn't starve before Deceit came up with a suitable plan. That was a good start to this scheme. It _definitely_ wasn't something he should have been considering earlier. Totally not an obvious course of action that Deceit should have thought of before he spent an hour trying to find fucking _scissors _while Virgil bled out or starved in the Light Side's _upstairs closet_.

He stole back up the stairs with his procurements. Virgil cowered away from him as soon as he entered the cramped space of the closet, eyes wide and swollen. His face was soaked with tears, and he made a horrible sound when Deceit closed the door, curling into the linens and hiding his weakest points. Deceit cursed himself for not finding a better hiding place- of _course_ being locked alone in another dark room with no escape would bother Anxiety- and said softly, putting on his own voice, "You do recall what I told you, don't you, Virgil?"

The sound of his name seemed to do it, since no one else knew to call him by it; Virgil shuddered and blinked up at Deceit with clearer eyes, exhausted and painfully trusting, and Deceit swallowed against the sudden sickness in his chest. Virgil took Deceit's hand and stood shakily, leaning into the touch without faltering at Deceit still wearing his face. "We're _not_ going to the upstairs bathroom," Deceit told him, figuring that he'd be able to parse the lie, and Virgil nodded.

The hallway was dark and quiet, and Deceit let Virgil lean on him as he limped down to the bathroom. Deceit locked the door as soon as they entered and picked through the first aid kit for their most likely options. "You totally won't need stitches, and I definitely don't suggest showering first," he said, keeping his disgust at what the other Dark Sides had done from his voice. "I can't imagine how a shower would make any of your injuries worse, so you might as well." 

Virgil wavered, glancing at the bath, and Deceit scowled. Standing up for so long, if that was Virgil's objection, might well be a problem. "Wait here," he said firmly, and slipped out into the hallway, back down into the Commons. There was a folding chair in a corner of the common room; he dragged it back up and pulled it into the bathroom without so much as a clink of metal against the doorframe. Set up in the shower, it made an acceptable place for Virgil to sit while he cleaned himself, without forcing his injured legs to support his weight. Virgil blinked at it, then at Deceit, then stepped into the shower. He faltered when he had to drop the cape from his shoulders, staring back at Deceit with terrified eyes, but Deceit only averted his gaze and pulled the shower curtain closed. "_Do_ try to make as much noise as possible."

The shower started running. Deceit took a shaky breath, a dizzy spell stealing over him, and grabbed the towel rack to keep himself upright. 

He wanted _Remus_\- wanted his cheerful grotesqueries, his handsiness, his inanities and temper and _strength _at Deceit's back, wanted to know that he could close his eyes and have someone else keep watch. He was so tired it dragged at his eyelids, at his heart and limbs, made him want to slow his breathing. Rage had cut his throat, then had left without even watching him die. What had they done to Remus, who would have fought past a cut throat or broken limb? How had they killed him, that he hadn't resurrected at the same time as Deceit? He would have noticed at once that Deceit was dead, maybe even that Virgil was in danger- how had they hurt him, that he hadn't gone after them first? 

Deceit wouldn't be there when he came back- wouldn't be able to guard him from further attacks or stop him from being made an _example _of like Virgil had been. Remus was on his own. 

He didn't- couldn't- care. He had his own troubles to deal with, and if he spread himself too thin, none of them were getting out of this without further damage. He had to trust that Remus could take care of himself.

From the shower he heard a sharp clatter and vaulted to his feet, overbalancing and collapsing to the carpet. The shower didn't stop- he thought he heard Virgil make a scared noise, thought he heard him move behind the curtain- so he wasn't truly afraid until someone knocked on the bathroom door. He heard Virgil freeze and hissed, "Sstay there," pulling on Anxiety's face like a mask and running the sink to wet his hair. He stalked to the door and yanked it open just a crack, glowering. "_What_." 

Logic was standing on the other side of the door, fist raised to knock again. He blinked and adjusted his glasses when Deceit opened the door, frowning. "Oh. Anxiety. Is there a reason you're taking a shower here at three in the morning?"

Deceit forced himself languid, sure of his welcome. He was Anxiety. He'd been up here in the past, had interacted with the Light Sides like an equal. He couldn't show fear. "My shower broke," he said, bristly and defensive. With his hair wet, he was sure it would come off as more silly than threatening. "Is there a reason you're _harassing_ me about it?"

"You're showering at three in the morning?" Logic was still frowning. "You should endeavor to keep a more consistent sleep schedule. Staying up like this might make it difficult for Thomas to properly rest."

_Dear God, Logic, go _away. "Sure, okay. Can I shower now, or are you gonna lecture me more?"

"I'm not lecturing you," Logic said blankly. "To do that, I would need at least a whiteboard, or a Powerpoint presentation if I were going to be more effective-"

Deceit resisted the urge to pull on his hair. "Logan please it's _three in the morning_."

Finally the other Side seemed to realize he was intruding; he stepped back, adjusting his glasses, and said, "Be sure to use the towels under the sink. The ones on the rack have been hanging there for at _least _a week. It's unhygienic."

Deceit blinked. Logic wasn't lying. "Thanks," he said, and almost meant it. "Uh... good night, I guess. Morning. Whatever."

Logic's lip quirked. "Good night, Anxiety." Deceit stared after him as he went back to his room, a faint flicker of an idea catching in the corner of his mind. He didn't examine it just yet, familiar with the nature of budding schemes; instead he closed the bathroom door and let the idea wait at the edge of his thoughts.

"All right, Virgil? Or have you been lying dead in the bathtub for the last ten minutes?" A pulse of anxiety made him wonder uselessly if Virgil actually _had _died, alone while Deceit ignored him, left him suffering-

Virgil waved a weak hand over the curtain bar, and Deceit did _not _melt with relief. "If you're almost done, I'll give you a towel." His nature pushed at him, and he added, "Or maybe I won't. I'm unpredictable like that."

He heard a shaky snort from the other side of the curtain and felt his eyes sting. Ridiculous. He dug under the sink and handed the softest towel he could find through the curtain, averting his eyes and blinking hard. "You shouldn't get up. I still have to treat your injuries."

Virgil pulled the curtain a moment later, towel wrapped around his waist. His body was still a mess of burns and bloody lacerations, and Deceit could see pink muscle peeking out from some of the wounds; he had no doubt that Virgil would have been immobilized completely if his nature as Anxiety wasn't working overdrive to keep him awake and aware. Malice must have forced him to use nearly all his power to keep himself alive.

The focus in Virgil's eyes was fading, though, and he shrank in on himself, keeping his eyes on Deceit like he was the only thing visible in the room. Only a little more than two hours ago he'd been raped, tortured and starved before that. Deceit doubted there was much of him left at the moment to really scan his surroundings. 

He was entirely in Deceit's hands and too tired even to care. Deceit swallowed down bile and said, "I totally won't let you sleep after this."

Virgil didn't tense up or fight when Deceit maneuvered him so his chest was against the back of the chair, even when Deceit left his line of sight. He went limp instead, closing his eyes and trembling at each touch. A faint whimper made it past the stitches on his mouth, and Deceit felt another flash of helpless rage. Anxiety was pathetic with his eyeshadow washed out, naked and beaten and skeletally thin, whimpering and crying like a wounded animal; by all rights he should have been free game, should have been left to die at last, and Deceit could have resurrected completely and promised him it wouldn't happen again if he behaved and wouldn't that have been enough? Wouldn't that have won him the same amount of trust, this same desperate dependence? 

But he hadn't. He _couldn't_, just- this was better, because it made Virgil trust him while his faculties were still intact. It placed Deceit in opposition to Malice, which was where he had to be anyway, because he would have to get back at Malice for having him killed in the first place. It ensured Anxiety's trust in him as a savior, not just a possible defender. All practical, self-serving reasons. And if someone tried to come in and hurt Virgil again-

Well. Maybe they'd _find_ Virgil, wounded and stitched silent, cowering away. Deceit could certainly take a beating if it meant Thomas' mental ability stayed intact, and if an enemy came close under the assumption that they'd found their victim helpless...

Deceit had long kept the habit of hiding weapons in his other four hands. He knew how easy it was to cut a throat. 

Virgil was trembling harder now, crying in near-silent breaths that shook his shoulders. Deceit pulled off his gloves and rested his scaly hands on the other Side's back, letting him feel the difference; it had seemed to help in the Dark Side, and here it let Virgil calm a little, pressing back into the touch. "Ssshush," Deceit hissed. "Keep as quiet as possible. I won't hurt you any more than absolutely necessary, but I don't have anesthetics or any reliable way to knock you out. Do you understand, Virgil? I promise I am trying to help you."

A weak nod. Deceit would have given him something to bite down on if his mouth hadn't been so ravaged; instead he grabbed a washcloth and pushed it into Virgil's hands. "Squeeze down on this when it hurts," he said, and got to work. He'd have to hope his power could soundproof the room enough that the Light Sides wouldn't notice. 

Virgil _did _scream a little when Deceit punctured the edge of his deepest cut, but it trailed off into quick little gasps, punctured by sharper, swallowed cries as he continued. His torturers hadn't pulled back any large flaps of skin, thankfully, though there were smaller wounds that showed muscle. Deceit kept up a steady stream of speech as he worked, voice barely shaking- what he would do next, how Virgil needed to move, nonsense about history and philosophers. Lies, for the most part. Deceit couldn't begin to recall his own studies clearly at that moment, not with Anxiety's fear-wracked body under his hands.

Deceit had treated Remus when he'd left wounds to be infected, killed him when they festered too far- had helped Virgil in the past, too, though never to this extent. He knew how to patch someone up, even how to keep them alive past all reason until it was safe for them to die and regenerate in their room. That second option was what would have to happen with Virgil. He was badly injured, would scar or have all sorts of issues from malnutrition if left as he was. His best option was death, so that he could come back unharmed. Deceit would have killed him immediately if it wouldn't consign him to further tortures; without allies, Virgil would be helpless as he resurrected, too weak to fight anyone off. Vulnerable and alone, like Remus would be soon.

The next option was to keep him alive until Remus was back and Deceit was better, taking his place in the meantime so Thomas wouldn't be suspicious and making sure he was comfortable enough to recover, some, until he had to die again. Wasted effort, perhaps, but Deceit would do it anyway. He could find a pragmatic reason for it later.

Virgil shuddered when Deceit pulled away at last, eyes shut and cheeks wet with tears. His breath was coming fast, chest rising and falling in stuttering motions, and Deceit couldn't figure out what was wrong until the other Side shifted his leg and let the towel fall to the ground. Left himself bare.

Deceit remembered walking in to Virgil's muffled screams and felt like throwing up.

"Oh, honestly," he said instead, grabbing the towel and flicking it back over Virgil's lap. "Like I'm going to fuck you right here in their bathroom like some kind of barbarian? I already told you I'm not interested in that. I'm self-_preservation_. You and I both know that Thomas won't get far if he isn't rightfully wary of dangers. All I want is to keep you intact."

Virgil stared up at him, obviously uncomprehending. His mutilated mouth was bleeding anew, and he was still crying, silent tears tracking down his face to mingle with the blood. Even bandaged and stitched-up, the ravages of his body were obvious: his wrists were still torn to pieces, his knees scraped and face swollen. The others must have beaten him even after he'd stopped fighting back.

Deceit thought of semen in Virgil's hair, all over his body and the floor. A _week _of that, and who knew how many had raped him before, _how _they'd violated him- he'd had to stitch wounds on the insides of his thighs, long cuts made to bleed, had had to wonder why Virgil sobbed when Deceit touched the stitches on his face. 

By the rules of the Dark Side, Virgil owed him anything and everything. Deceit had brought him away from a rightfully-earned (ha!) punishment, had healed him and coddled him and saved him from Jealousy. He'd cut his own resurrection short just to rescue Virgil from his own mistakes. He should have been faster, stronger, smarter- shouldn't have gotten caught, if he hadn't wanted to be punished. If anyone else, save maybe Remus, had rescued him, they probably would have hurt him worse already. 

Would have pulled his legs apart and made him _wail_. Would have watched him try to keep quiet and still, on the ground as Jealousy crooned his vicious fucking _lies _and Deceit had been too late, too weak, too _cowardly, _hadn't been able to tear Jealousy away because he wouldn't have won that fight. He would only have made things worse for the both of them. 

But he'd stood there as Virgil cried out in pain, as Jealousy rutted into him and made him bleed, as Jealousy _came in him _and god, how Virgil had cried...

His eyes stung, but he forced his expression steady. He had an objective here. He was _going_ to complete it. "We have to go back to the closet now," Deceit said, as comfortingly as he could. "Virgil, could you please stand up? Keep the towel on, if you're able."

Virgil got to his feet, knees buckling, and Deceit rushed in to catch him before he fell. He was far too light, Deceit thought queasily, but of course that was to be expected. One of Virgil's hands was clutching the towel around his waist, desperate but flagging with numb fingers, and Deceit pulled up all the power he had left and snapped out with it, making Virgil gasp and flinch back. Deceit swallowed down blood and gave a weak smirk; the other Side was wearing a thin pajama shirt and pants, barefoot but _covered,_ clean and warm. He felt Virgil notice and relax into him, pressing his face into Deceit's shoulder. "One more thing," Deceit said, suddenly wanting that relaxation to _stay, _and brushed his thumbs under Virgil's eyelids, smearing black above his cheeks. "There. How's that?"

He turned Virgil toward the mirror and saw his eyes widen when he noticed the eyeshadow, muddled with the bruises but still _there, _as much a part of him as Deceit's own outfit. His gaze when he turned to Deceit was teary but relieved, painfully, undeservedly grateful, and Deceit blurted out, "We _don't_ have to actually go to the closet now," already guiding him. 

No one was waiting as they stepped out, but Deceit kept Virgil's face anyway, placing him carefully in the linen pile and putting the chicken broth and straw beside him. "Nod if you'd rather eat now than sleep," he ordered, and Virgil blinked muzzily up at him before shaking his head, already wilting into the blankets. Deceit took that as a no and said, "I'll come back in a few hours," injecting as much sincerity as he could into his voice, before shutting the closet door and sinking onto the ground on the other side.

His hands were shaking- all six of them, so he couldn't even switch them out. His throat tasted bloody, parts of him vague and blurred-out, and he couldn't breathe without thinking of it, could barely keep up his facade. God. He didn't know if he could do this. Impersonating Virgil for so long, when he hadn't himself interacted much with the Light Sides at all? Putting himself at risk of injury at any moment, making himself an uninvited guest to the main functions of Thomas' mind? They would kill him. He'd be lucky if they only killed him. 

But other Dark Sides could be manipulated, and he was willing to bet that the Light Sides were the same. He knew the basics of their personalities and how they interacted; all he'd have to do was slot himself in as Virgil and make it seem natural. Expected, almost, that there were four of them instead of three.

His idea was starting to take shape now, barbed and dangerous and utterly ridiculous. He didn't know if it would work. He wanted Remus here to explain it to, someone who would point out the obvious problems and make him feel safe besides, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Deceit had to work with what was available to him: his own abilities and the Light Sides' gullibility. That would have to be enough. 

Virgil advised Thomas in person. He not only appeared in videos but _hung around_ afterwards, both in the Light Side Commons and in the real world. The Light Sides clearly tolerated his presence, even when it only served to undermine their interests. Surely it was possible to turn that tolerance into _acceptance_. Morality was soft-hearted, Logic mildly accepting already, Creativity susceptible to flattery. Surely they could be manipulated.

Anxiety was the gentlest of them, close to being accepted by Thomas as a part of himself. In temperament, he was already nearer to a Light Side than to, say, _Entitlement_. If Deceit added pressure- if he gave Virgil's standing among the Light Sides a little _push- _then perhaps Morality could be convinced that Virgil belonged in the Light Side with _them__, _instead of with Malice and Deceit. Then his room could be moved- it _had _to be possible- and he could resurrect in safety, among allies who wouldn't torture him at the first sign of weakness.

Deceit pulled his disguise close around him, making it as solid as it would get. Remus would almost certainly return within a week. That gave Deceit at least four days to convince the Light Sides that Virgil deserved to be counted among their ranks. Four days, to ensure that he'd be safe from Jealousy, Malice and Rage. Four days to keep him alive and hidden. 

Quite the lie. Deceit took a deep breath and drew strength from the thought, letting the planned deception add much-needed solidity to his form. It was settled, then.

If he had any say in it, Virgil would never suffer through one of the Dark Sides' _punishments _again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil hides. Deceit tries to fit in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW at end of chapter.
> 
> Also, finished this at 2 AM, so there may be minor edits incoming. They will only affect flow, not plot.

Virgil couldn't cry, because if he cried again he'd ruin his eye shadow. Deceit had gone through all that effort to make him clean and presentable, had even risked getting him a chair so he wouldn't have to stand up while he showered- the least Virgil could do was show gratitude by not fucking it up immediately. But he couldn't stop shaking, couldn't make his arms stop hugging his knees. Couldn't stop cringing every time he swallowed and it felt like his throat was on fire, or stop the gnaw of hunger on his insides that drowned out the agony everywhere else. He tried to sleep, closing his eyes, but it didn't matter what position he was in. He couldn't get away from the sharp, splitting ache between his legs. Jealousy's words wouldn't stop ringing through his head.

_Such a sweet little thing, you're so good for me, so _tight-

Please_, _he wanted to sob, please stop, no, _please, _but of course there was no point. Jealousy wasn't even there. He wanted to whimper anyway, to beg and hold his legs together even though it was pointless, because he didn't know what else to do. When he closed his eyes it felt like he was back in the empty room again, like the door could open at any moment and let someone in. Rage might make him lie down and rut into his legs, or Malice would drag his head back and kiss him through the stitches, fingers yanking at his filthy hair. Apathy might come in and reach a hand into Virgil's underwear, wrap a hand around him and _play _until he got tired of Virgil's ragged, choking cries. He couldn't convince himself he was out.

Even when he _was _sure, it didn't help. Every time he heard a noise outside the closet he went cold with adrenaline, wondering if he'd been dreaming after all and was about to see Malice open the door. When he was less delirious, he wondered if this was the moment he was discovered- the moment he got to see what Roman was willing to do with that sword_._

Virgil had no illusions as to how he looked. Bleeding, stitched-up and fucked to pieces, cowering on the Light Side like a mangy animal licking its wounds... Patton might like him a little bit, because he liked everybody, and Logan might at least appreciate that he was quiet sometimes, but there wasn't a Side among them who wouldn't be happy that someone had finally shut him up. Whatever respect they ever had for him would be gone as soon as they saw him. The only question was whether they'd throw him back or keep him for themselves.

_Here's the source of all your problems, and oh, look! Isn't this lucky. He's free _game_. _And Virgil would flinch at the disgust on their faces, wouldn't he, would definitely cry when Roman drew his sword, would _prove _himself cowardly and bad at his job and _asking for it. _God, he hoped they'd at least be nice enough to keep him up here as entertainment, but he knew it was too much to wish for.

Everyone knew what happened to Sides who caused trouble and didn't have the strength to back it up.

Virgil's straining ears caught a hint of voices in the hallway, and he froze, terror pinning him in place. If he made a sound- if someone came in-

Breathe in for four seconds. Hold for seven. Out for eight. It didn't matter what happened to him, he knew that. All that mattered was keeping this from Thomas.

Virgil wondered despairingly what Thomas was feeling right now. It was still nighttime. He could be in a dark room, suddenly frozen like when he was little and _convinced _a monster was watching him from the foot of his bed. He could be having an anxiety attack, for all Virgil knew. He had to be affecting him somehow, but Malice had blocked his escape to the real world as completely as Deceit could have; he hadn't been able to survey the damage.

Fuck. What if Thomas summoned him? He never had but what if he did, what if he saw and got scared or mad or _worried_, what if he summoned the others-

"Got it," he heard his own voice mutter from the hallway, interrupting his thoughts, and his heart skipped a beat. He pulled the linens up to his shoulder and glued his eyes to the door.

The closet door creaked open. Virgil flinched as Deceit stepped in, oppressively close in the tiny space; he'd had gotten rid of the shelves, dumping all the linens on the floor for Virgil to stain and ruin, but that still left barely enough space for the two of them to stand face to face without touching. Virgil pulled his knees in close and pressed himself into the corner to leave a little more room, and Deceit lowered himself down beside him, shedding his disguise in patches like a drying skin. Virgil's heart clenched at the way his face flickered, scales dotting across his face and clothes glitching from casual to dressy. Those lines at the corners of Deceit's eyes meant he was in pain. God, and he'd been the cause of that, too, hadn't he?

He swallowed painfully and reached out a hand to- to touch, or offer help, fuck if he knew- but Deceit glared and snarled under his breath, and Virgil jerked back with a stifled whimper. "I'm fine," Deceit hissed, "obviously. _Don't_ leave it."

Virgil nodded, fresh tears slipping loose despite his best efforts. He flinched up his hands to try to wipe at them, but they came away smudged with black. He couldn't do anything right today. Couldn't fight off Jealousy, couldn't stop himself from slipping in the shower and almost getting them both caught- it was a wonder Deceit hadn't thrown him to the wolves already. Deceit frowned when he saw Virgil's face, and suddenly Virgil couldn't breathe, couldn't stop himself from cowering back. _He won't hurt me, he won't, he said he won't- _but he could have been lying. This was Deceit he was talking about. He could have been lying all _along-_

"Would you _stop_ that? You're telling yourself something you don't believe, and whatever it is, it's giving me a headache. Calm down." Virgil subsided, still trembling but trying his best to make his thoughts blank. It was hard to focus at all. Deceit stopped clutching his head, and said, softer, "I _haven't _brought some things for you to drink, and I'm not sorry that I couldn't find something for your mouth." Another pair of arms appeared, and Virgil blinked; they were holding a bunch of straws and a bottle of water. "Would you prefer chicken broth or water first?"

Virgil stared, then touched the stitches on his mouth to make sure they were still there. They were, predictably. He narrowed his eyes. Deceit huffed, still quiet. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't consider the _obvious problem _with getting you actual food. I definitely didn't try to find ways to work around it."

Virgil watched him for a moment longer in case he changed his mind, then shrugged and tapped the water, tense in case it turned out to be a trick after all. He didn't need water, right? He'd gotten a bit through his stitches in the shower, and he'd thought afterwards that Deceit would just sequester him and leave, that he was lying about the broth or expected Virgil to fend for himself.

"Right," Deceit said, glaring at the water bottle and unscrewing the cap. "This won't be messy at all. Do try to spill it, I'd love to clean up that mess." Virgil rolled his eyes. His heart sped up a second after, instinct beating him over the head with _why did you do that, _but luckily Deceit didn't seem to notice. He was too busy getting out a straw and taping it in place around the bottle opening, bringing a third hand in to stabilize. "I'm _not _going to need you to touch your mouth. You _don't_ need to find a place to get this straw through."

Virgil blinked at him, thoughts starting to slip away again. He didn't? But that- that didn't make sense-

A sigh. "Hold still," Deceit said, and then his hand was reaching up toward Virgil's face _towards his mouth _and he went absolutely still, anguish soaking through him. His eyes shuddered closed, waiting for the grip in his hair, the weight of another body pressing him into the corner. It had been inevitable, really. He shouldn't have been so devastated by it, shouldn't be closing his eyes and risking his ally's _anger- _"Virgil," came Deceit's voice instead, strained, but Virgil only tried to stop shivering. He couldn't do anything Dee didn't want. He owed him, this was more than enough, he had to be obedient, right? Couldn't he at least do that? Deceit was already doing so much for him, risking his neck just for Virgil's comfort. Virgil's life was already in his hands.

Virgil felt Deceit move- _so close too close- _and cringed into his shoulder, pressing his face into the crook of his neck. His hands clutched weakly at the sheets, docile and out of the way.

_Look how good I'm being, _he wanted to whimper, humiliated and despairing. _I'm cooperating, not fighting, please don't leave me. I can be good. _He could. He liked Deceit. Deceit was constant, snappy without violence and harsh without heat. He could curl up with him, Remus on his other side, and make fun of stupid movies. He could go to him for help with an injury he couldn't reach. It wouldn't be that different if Deceit forced him down now, quieted him as he pulled down Virgil's underwear and reached up to stretch him loose. He could behave for that. And maybe afterwards Deceit could hold him and hum, like he did when Remus or Virgil was _really _hurt, and promise that everything would be okay. God, god, _please, _it was all he wanted...

Deceit's cool hand settled against his cheek, light against the bruises, and Virgil felt a thumb wipe the tears from under his eye. He swayed into the touch, breath stuttering, and felt a press of cold lips against his forehead. "I only need to get this straw in your mouth," Deceit whispered, so close Virgil could feel the words against his skin. His voice was breaking. "Nothing else, do you understand? I- I'm not going to hurt you." Virgil whimpered without meaning to, pressing further into Deceit's palm. His chest heaved with weak, hitching sobs. Lying, he was _lying_, why was he lying when Virgil would do what he wanted anyway? "Ssshhh, sssshhh. We can't be loud, do you remember? We have to be quiet." Virgil shuddered in another breath. "I'm going to touch your lips now, to squeeze the straw through. It may hurt. Nod if you understand."

He did as he was told, nodding pathetically, and felt Deceit's fingers spasm on his face. Sharp plastic pushed between his lips, and he jerked back, halted by another hand on his shoulder. His lips cracked and bled. "It's all right," Deceit whispered, and smiled weakly when Virgil opened his eyes. "It's _not _only water. I need you to drink some. Could you do that for me, Virgil?"

Drink some? Virgil swallowed reflexively and felt his throat burn, then sucked in a breath and got a mouthful of lukewarm water. He choked, coughing weakly- swallowed again, past the hitch in his throat that told him he was drowning, and-

The water trickled down his throat and spread in a cool wave through his body. Virgil gasped and took another sip, thirst clawing up to make itself known. Deceit stopped him before he could drink more than half of the water bottle, thinning his lips when Virgil flinched after it. "You won't make yourself sick," he said, almost apologetic. "Wait a little while, and then we'll have more."

Virgil couldn't seem to keep his eyes open. He closed them and opened them again at Deceit's insistent prodding, lifting his head to be confronted with another straw. Deceit looked tireder than before. He was holding a thermos, pressing it into Virgil's weak shaking hands, and its surface was warm. There was a straw in it. Where had Dee gotten a thermos...? Virgil squinted muzzily at him, and Deceit rolled his eyes. "I love how active you're being in your own recovery. Do you need me to guide it to your mouth again?"

Virgil shook his head and managed to fit the straw between the same two stitches, farthest apart and least painful to pull because of it. This time the liquid was chicken broth, hitting his tongue with an explosion of flavor he had _not _expected from what was basically a soup base. But he hadn't eaten in more than a week, and his taste buds had been stuck with blood for a while, so he guessed it made sense. Another draw of broth; he closed his eyes to savor the taste.

Deceit let him drink most of the thermos. Virgil didn't protest when he pulled it away, already drooping; he curled back into the corner, too tired to watch Deceit for quick movements, and closed his eyes, just for a moment.

*

Virgil slept. Up close, it looked much closer to passing out. Deceit stood and watched him in the tiny space, practically looming, but Anxiety gave no indication of feeling his presence. No indication of watching, and Deceit was _incredible _at knowing when he was being watched. He disguised himself often enough, after all: peripheral awareness came with the territory. 

Virgil hadn't wanted to watch him, though. He'd pressed his face into his shoulder for the barest semblance of touch, weeping and terrified because he thought Deceit would hurt him. He'd thought that and he hadn't moved away, hadn't even tried to hide. He'd wanted Deceit more than he'd wanted not to be _violated_ by him. Deceit wished he could despise him for it, but he'd only found himself wishing he had more ways to comfort Virgil, instead. His delirium had only barely abated after he'd eaten.

_Eaten. _Ha. If Virgil were human, he'd need nutrients through an IV. It was almost cruel, forcing him to live through this when there was another option. But that other option was to wake up in his room half-formed and feeble, and fall into the others' waiting hands. Like Remus would, as soon as he came back. There would be no one there to stop it.

Blood and nausea welled up in Deceit's mouth. He didn't want to think of what would happen to Remus when he woke up surrounded by enemies. He didn't want to think of how Remus might expect him to be there, how he might feel when he realized Deceit wasn't _coming_-

He swallowed his feelings back and clenched his fists. Never mind that. He had to carry this out, other feelings be damned. He was Self-Preservation, safety in deception; playing tricks to keep Thomas' mind and body safe was _literally _his purpose_. _Everything else was secondary.

It was four hours until Thomas was properly awake, and four more until he finally stopped trying to brainstorm video ideas and squeezed his fingers through his hair, heart beating like he was under attack: Virgil's doing, no doubt. Up in the Light Side it was easier to feel his moods and worries, the little lies he told himself and the ones he told others. _I'm fine, I haven't been anxious, I'm not mad. _Fabrications for the sake of social lubrication. So he wouldn't be hurt, or trapped in a uncomfortable situation, or abandoned by those he called friends.

It made it easy to know when he was considering consulting the Light Sides- _I don't really need to bother them with this, I can handle it on my own- _and pop up uninvited, making himself known with Anxiety's contemptuous drawl. The Light Sides had everything easier, it seemed. "Something _wrong,_ Thomas?"

Thomas jumped and faced him, and the sight of him was like lightning. Here he was, the template on which all of them were drawn, the reason for their existence- and he was wearing a _T-shirt_. For _Steven Universe. _Where was his sense of style?

He knew he'd been the one to advise Anxiety to take a hard stance in dealing with their host, but he hadn't imagined it would be this difficult. Somehow he'd always imagined that Thomas would be more abrasive in person.

Ridiculous. He should have known better. He should have-

"Anxiety?" Thomas had the gall to sound surprised. "What are you doing here?"

Deceit rolled his eyes. Thomas didn't get that _stupidity_ from him, at least. "You're obviously freaked out about something. Did you think I wouldn't notice? Freaking you out is my _job_."

"If it's your job, maybe you can tell me why I feel like this," Thomas said shrilly, pacing back and forth. His eyes were baggy, hair barely brushed and mouth tight. Deceit felt an uncomfortable curl of shame. "I've been really freaked out lately, and then I'm not, and then I am again- is it because of the audition? Because usually you don't make me feel like this!"

Deceit was certain it was because Anxiety had been tortured incoherent and was currently locked in a closet, but like hell he was telling Thomas _that_. What would Virgil say? "Yeah, about that? I'm pretty sure the director hates you." 

"She- no, that's- that's not true," Thomas said, turning to stare with wide brown eyes. Deceit crushed the urge to duck back into the Mindscape and hide. "I mean, I know we didn't get off on the right foot-"

"You flubbed your audition and spilled coffee down her shirt," he cut in, affecting Virgil's condescending drawl. "Pretty sure that's a little worse than the _wrong foot_."

"Yeah, but," Thomas floundered, "I did fine _after _that. She said I was one of the best she'd seen once I remembered my lines."

Oh, _please_. "Ever heard of something called a platitude? She was lying. Obviously you weren't as good as she said. She just didn't want to make you feel any worse than you already did."

Thomas winced, glancing away, then dragged a hand down his face and said, "Okay, clearly I need some backup here. Roman, Logan, Patton?"

The other Sides rose up, and Deceit struggled not to tense up. Virgil would be used to their overwhelming presence. He couldn't break character _now._

But Morality was _right there_, his opposite number, warm and secure in Thomas' regard. Logic was there, coolly certain of his control, along with Creativity, who felt so much like Remus that it hurt. Deceit had only ever spoken to them a few times in person, and had never conversed with Morality at all. How was he meant to do this with so little to guide him? How could he know what to say, how to act, what buttons to push so they'd see Virgil as an _ally, _useful but not dangerous? One wrong step could mean the end of this strange tolerance he'd won himself, up where Deceit never dared to creep. One wrong move could mean he was never accepted by them at _all._

Deceit cursed himself for never grilling Virgil on every detail of his interactions with the Light Sides. For all he knew, they hit Virgil when his provocations went too far or displeased them. Thomas might not even object to that sort of treatment, since none of them were real enough for permanent damage. Deceit would need a plan for every eventuality- would have to make sure he reacted properly, if they hurt him. Would have to convince them that it was unnecessary.

Virgil trusted them, to some extent. Surely they knew that? Virgil had even cried out for them when he'd been hurt, if Malice was to be believed. Surely that meant they were a better option than the Dark Sides. Anything had to be a better option than _them_-

"Oh, good, it's Scaramore," Remus' brother said derisively, cutting through his thoughts. "Here to cause more unnecessary problems, I see. What, was making Thomas lose sleep for a week not enough for you?"

Lovely, Deceit thought, resigned. Somehow _Remus_ was the more charming of the two. "You know me, Cr- _Princey_," he amended, slumping a little more and trying to look smug. "Sometimes I like to go above and beyond."

Logic blinked. "You... refused to participate in a conversation three weeks ago on the basis that it was, and I quote, 'too much work.'"

Fuck. "Yeah, well, that time it wasn't my _job."_

"It was literally _about _the nature of fear-"

"What, like I'm a _philosopher-"_

Thomas said awkwardly, "Guys, not that I'm not riveted by this conversation, but I would like to get an actual answer to my problems."

"Of course, Thomas!" Morality said, all concern, and Deceit barely repressed a flinch. It wasn't even personal. They'd never even _met_. But Morality felt so bright, so utterly _foreign, _that Deceit had trouble not averting his eyes. He'd never seen someone so openly sweet. "Is your audition really bothering you that much? I know Anxiety can be a gloomy fella sometimes, but I thought you did pretty well!"

"Of course he did well," Creativity scoffed. "I was there with him the whole time."

"Is that meant to be a guarantee?" Deceit asked, because it was what Virgil would say. "I'd be surprised if you being there didn't make things _worse_."

"As _if!"_

Logic interjected, "Thomas, is the audition actually the problem here? If I recall correctly, you were stressed even before it came to pass."

"It's true! You were being a real worrywart even before you spilled coffee on her shirt and possibly caused first degree burns." Deceit winced a second too late.

"Well, I think it's pretty clear who's causing all of our recent problems," Creativity said with a pointed glare. Deceit bared his teeth. "Anything to say for yourself, Anxiety?"

Deceit thought of Remus' disproportionate strength and tensed, drawing into himself. If this Creativity was anywhere near as strong... "Who's he?" he asked instinctively, cursing himself as soon as it passed his lips. Idiot. At least he'd managed to make it sound sarcastic. "Never heard of him."

Creativity's face went red. "You- how _dare _you-" His fists bunched. "You're the reason we flubbed the audition in the _first place! _If you hadn't made him lose so much sleep and made him so _anxious _before he was even on _stage_, he would have done _so much _better!"

"Don't blame _me_ for your failings," Deceit snapped, heart clenching. "It's your job to make him good at acting. I'm the one who _protects_ him."

"Protects him?" Creativity echoed incredulously. _"Protect- _Is that what you think you do?" Deceit forced himself not to glare too fiercely. He couldn't take this argument too far. He had to be in character, and Virgil apparently argued with the Light Sides all the time, but he couldn't afford to make enemies. He had to capitulate. He had to be _calm_.

"Roman, this isn't productive," Logic tried, but Creativity cut him off.

"No! No, this is _long_ overdue. Anxiety, you think you _protect _him? Oh, I pity anyone you try to protect with your fearmongering. I mean, what kind of torture would it be for Thomas to have to live under _your_ idea of safety?" Deceit stiffened. "I bet anyone you're responsible for is _worse_ off. I'll bet they wish they never _met_ you," and if there was more, Deceit couldn't hear it. He couldn't hear much of anything past the sudden roaring in his ears.

All of a sudden the world was very quiet.

_What kind of _torture_\- _

_Worse off- _

_Wish they never _met_ you-_

_He's one of Deceit's little friends, _Malice had scoffed outside his room, when Deceit had barely been strong enough to string his thoughts together._ Figured we might as well teach him a lesson, a__nd when the Duke comes back, see how much we can make _that _freak scream-_

And Deceit couldn't even _get _to him, could barely protect one and they wouldn't have been in this mess if they hadn't decided to ally with _him-_

He couldn't protect anyone. He couldn't even keep Virgil safe, couldn't keep it together for one measly _conversation-_

"What?" Roman was goading. "Nothing to say? Can't think of a way to defend your villainous actions?" Deceit vaguely registered Morality distressed, Logic exasperated, Thomas concerned, but they meant nothing. None of them knew _anything. _

His hands were shaking. "Shut up."

"Or what?" Roman demanded. "You'll try to intimidate _me _like you intimidate Thomas?"

"Roman, he doesn't _intimidate _me-"

"Oh, _please. _It's all he does. He postures and intimidates and tries to act brave, when really he's a weak, friendless_ coward-"_

_"Roman-"_

"Shut up!" Deceit screamed, and Thomas flinched back. He didn't care. He _didn't_, and Virgil was _not _a coward, not when Deceit hadn't even been brave enough to stop Jealousy from _finishing _before he drove him away- "Shut _up! _How _dare _you! Don't you pretend that your failings are _my _fault, _Princey_. I'm not the one who went up on stage and _shit all over himself,_ it's not _me _who can barely do his damn job on a _good day_-" and he was standing, when had he started standing, and Remus' brother was in front of him angry and powerful and _raising his hand-_

He blacked out and found himself against the wall, arms up to protect his face. His heart felt like it was bursting apart, and his disguise, he- he could _feel _it failing, scales crawling across his face and eye burning gold- he turned his head and tried to pull himself in, hide behind Anxiety's face. They did hit him, they _must _hit him, and here Deceit was failing again and making things worse, making it so stupid, loyal Virgil had _nowhere to go. _

Some Self-Preservation _he_ was. Creativity was right.

He kept his arms up, waiting, trying to breathe past the fear in his lungs.

"A-Anxiety?" came Roman's voice, sounding _alarmed, _and Deceit stayed in place, trembling like an idiot despite his best efforts. At least it was in character, he thought, sour and hysterical. Even if he couldn't make his _face _behave. "I- are you-?"

"Anxiety," Thomas said, and suddenly Deceit couldn't take it anymore, couldn't stand to hear what Thomas had to say next, how he was going to be hurt, how they _must have _hurt Virgil in the past.

"I'm sorry," he forced out, trying to keep his voice in range of Virgil's terrified rasp. "I- I didn't..." His mind went blank on what to say next. Malice or Rage never let anyone get this far before hitting them unless they wanted him to dig his own grave, and Virgil hadn't been so frightened in front of Deceit in years. He didn't know what Virgil _said _to them in these situations. "I shouldn't have said that," he tried, but when Thomas moved forward he pulled back and closed his eyes, terror still stripping the glamour from his skin.

"Hey," Thomas said, soft and unsteady. "Anxiety, we're- no one's going to hit you. You don't have to be scared of that."

Deceit sucked in a breath and forced his left cheek smooth, his left eye dull. "You'd think you'd be better at lying, Thomas," he said, tone wavering between Virgil's and his own. He wanted to rake himself over hot coals for this pitiful performance. Perhaps the Light Sides could do it for him.

"I'm not," Thomas said, sounding appalled, and Deceit finally opened his eyes, facing him with a wary sneer. "I don't- is this a fight or flight thing? Do you just-" He choked up, and Deceit stared, suddenly feeling out of his depth. "Are you always scared of things like this?"

Was he always-? What, like they- they didn't _know-_

The relief hit him slowly, diffuse like mist over his skin. They _didn_'_t_ hurt Virgil, then, not in front of Thomas and maybe not without his knowledge, either. He would never react like this if they did. "You could say that," Deceit said, uncurling and tugging the hem of his hoodie like Virgil did, when he needed something to do with his hands. "I'm Anxiety, y'know? C-comes with the territory." He caught Roman's eyes, where he'd backed up to the other wall, and shrugged apologetically. "I've been... jumpier, lately, than usual. Sorry."

"Is there any reason why?" Logic asked, sounding shell-shocked himself. Deceit couldn't imagine why.

"I couldn't tell you," he said, hunching and looking away. Technically true. "'S not a big deal."

"I think it is, if it's affecting Thomas this much," Morality said carefully. "But we don't have to talk about it right now if you don't want to." He sniffled, then asked, blindsiding Deceit completely, "Is it okay if I give you a hug?"

"Sssure?" he tried, too surprised to modulate his voice, and then Patton's arms were around him, warmer than Virgil's but cooler than the Duke's. He wavered, because this was where he'd wrap six arms around the other Side if they knew it was him, but of course he couldn't do that here. Patton pulled away before he could make up his mind, smile as warm as his embrace.

"Could you tell us next time you're feeling bad like that?" he asked, like kindness was a certainty instead of a luxury. Deceit realized with a lurch why Virgil loved them all so desperately, and oh, this was _not _the time for that realization. "You don't have to be scared of everything alone."

Like it was a choice. Like empathy was a natural decision instead of a strategic one, and even a Dark Side was entitled to it. But Thomas was nodding, and the others hadn't objected yet. Like this was the expected response to another Side's terror.

"Yeah," Deceit answered weakly, dizzy and horrified with wanting. He had to follow his plan. He had to get Virgil to _safety, _make his acceptance definite. His role was that of the placeholder, the changeling sent to infiltrate their ranks. This kindness wasn't _meant_ for him. "Okay. I can do that."

Patton beamed.

Deceit felt his heart catch in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: rape flashbacks, panic attacks, assumptions of abuse.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil gets with the program. For once in his life, Deceit has a good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW at the end of the chapter!
> 
> Also, if you're going back to college in person, stay safe.

The Light Sides were _wrong. _Deceit didn't know how to think of them aside from that. They were clashing traits forced into close proximity, but they treated each other like roommates- and despite how Virgil clashed with _all of them_, they didn't gang up on him as the intruder in their midst. Instead they tolerated him like the sullen cousin at a family reunion: someone to include if necessary but otherwise ignore.

It was infuriating, and the constant touching was the worst of it. Morality was a repeat offender, and Roman took every opportunity to throw arms around shoulders. It was the first charming thing Deceit had noticed about him: that he craved touch and attention as much as Remus, thrived when he was watched. Only Logan had some concept of personal space.

If Virgil's appearance hadn't been so perfectly tailored to ward off contact, Deceit would have snapped already- and he could hardly rein himself in as it was.

Every time the Light Sides smiled, every time Patton hugged someone or Roman immersed himself in an impromptu performance or Logan set up in the common room to focus on some documents, Deceit had to resist the urge to snarl and pull them apart. Had to resist the need to lecture them- _what are you morons doing, don't take your eyes off of them, don't _distract _yourself, __you can _totally _risk showing this much weakness, don't you remember what happened to Dependence?_

It was the same snappish instinct that made him treat Remus like a bodyguard and Virgil like a tool, that kept him from defending them when it wasn't absolutely necessary. Love was weakness. Outside of his room they could _not_ be close, and they could never be friends. The slightest hint of attachment would bring the others down on them like a feeding frenzy, because it would be so _easy _to hurt them, trap them, make them do as they were told. Just take one and hurt him where the others can't reach. Just make them watch, get them out of the way, show Deceit the consequences of holding out-

Not that his efforts had mattered, in the end. Virgil had always worn his heart on his sleeve. It hadn't taken a genius to pinpoint him as the weakest link.

"You awake there, bud?"

Deceit flinched from his reverie. "Something you want?" he asked, swallowing the blood welled up in his mouth. His body ached like he'd run a marathon.

He wanted sleep. He wanted to curl up in bed for a thousand years, hibernating like he really _was _a reptile until the crushing exhaustion abated- but function took the priority. He had a role to play. Virgil was in no shape to be left alone.

Patton said, bafflingly, "I wanted to know if you'll come with us later today!"

Deceit straightened, remembered that Virgil didn't straighten and would probably also know what they were talking about, and slouched again. Surely his finest performance. "Huh," he said, keeping the surprise from his voice. "Really?"

"Yeah?" Patton shuffled, almost tentative, like he thought Deceit was about to hit him. Nonsensical. Virgil couldn't ever have harmed them, even in self-defense; his temperament wouldn't allow it. "Roman's just started making it, but I think he's really found his forte with this fort! It Knox every other one out of the park." Deceit smothered a laugh. "So if you wanted to play with us-"

"Padre!" Roman interjected. His arms were laden with blankets. Deceit felt the sudden, hateful urge to strangle him- how dare they play when Remus and Virgil had to scrabble around in the Dark- and hid his shaking hands. "You can't just invite him like some honored guest! He'll ruin the whole endeavor!"

_Honestly_. "Scared I'll spoil your reindeer games?"

"Don't quote Christmas carols like they mean anything to you, you Grinch." Deceit heroically refrained from pointing out that it was September. "You ruin everything else. Why not this, too?"

Another flash of rage, hot enough it made him dizzy. God forbid Virgil do his job in their presence- that he do _anything _near them without being censured, when he was sleeping upstairs because a closet on their side was better than his actual room_,_ when he loved them so _desperately_\- "Rude," he made himself drawl, though Virgil would have snapped back. "Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf. Are you really gonna discourage me like this?" He looked up at Remus's brother through his lashes. "Doesn't seem very heroic to me, Princey."

"Heroism is foiling the villain's plans," Roman sniffed, glaring back.

Oh, how Deceit loved talking morons into corners. "So you can't be a hero unless I'm around? That's a lot of pressure. I'm kind of intimidated." He widened his eyes. "It's cool that you trust me with your virtue, though. Not sure I can live up to the responsibility."

Roman's face reddened; _he _had spotted the innuendo, even if Patton apparently hadn't. "I- you- don't make it _weird!"_

"Hate to tell you this, dude, but weird's kinda my thing_," _Deceit said, and it was comforting to assume Virgil's speech patterns like this; he could think back to lurking in his room, taunting and sharing gossip, relaxing at the lack of external threats. He could almost forget how Remus might be enduring torture as they spoke.

His mood soured. "Tell you what, Patton," Deceit said, trying for even. "If you really want me to come, I can join you in a few hours. Let Princey have his me-time." He shot Remus' brother a wry look, as close to understanding as Virgil ever got: rueful and commiserating, because sometimes you needed a break, right, even from yourself. That was what Virgil had said once while Remus slept, murmuring so low Deceit had had to strain his ears. _It's okay if you need a break from me._

_I _so_ love how ridiculous you're being, _Deceit had scorned. _What possible reason would I have for that? I may as well cut off my own hands, or walk to the kitchen blindfolded. I definitely have a death wish. _Because Virgil was hypervigilant and trustworthy, had good reflexes and the best night vision. Because Virgil was actually important to Thomas's well-being. Because he could give them information on the Sides that mattered.

All practical reasons. Deceit would have articulated them, but Virgil had fallen asleep before he could, excruciatingly trusting, and the lump in his throat hadn't let Deceit wake him. His face had smoothed in rest. The tightness at his mouth had slackened, eyebrows relaxed from their habitual bow; he'd been peaceful, handing his entire defense to Deceit. He'd left his neck exposed.

He should have known better than to trust a liar. If Deceit hadn't gotten careless, had turned before the kiss of the knife across his throat-

"So we've come to an acceptable compromise?" Logan asked, closing his notebook with all the care of a doting parent. "Excellent. Anxiety, I will retrieve you in three hours."

"Better make it four," Roman snorted.

"Come join us soon, okay?" Patton said hopefully, and just like that they were gone.

Deceit waited until he was sure the Light Sides were safely ensconced in whatever pocket Roman had summoned, then raided the pantry for more chicken broth. He microwaved a bowl of it, aiming for tolerable warmth, then summoned a thermos with a wince and transferred it. The exhaustion reared up again, forcing him to prop himself against the counter; his lungs felt like overflowing, limbs so heavy he could barely lift them. It didn't bode well for the next step of his plan, but he had to make the effort anyway.

He took a painful breath and gathered himself in, pulling close all the frazzled-damaged pieces that hadn't had time to settle before his resurrection, and tried with all he had to cobble something unfamiliar from the loose ends of the Mindscape.

The pressure behind his eyes heightened. He barely put the thermos down before his sight blotted out completely, static with pain. Undone as he was, exercising his abilities was like stretching a torn muscle: it brought the wounds freshly forward, made them so much worse. For a long moment there was nothing but pain.

Finally he recovered his breath, wiping the blood from his lips and smirking in weak triumph at the wire cutter on the floor. He tugged the shroud of Virgil's appearance back over him, shivering at the chill- totally a good sign, not a symptom of overexertion at all- and took his cargo upstairs.

Virgil was asleep when Deceit entered the closet, but he woke at the shadow over him, curled and tried to show his teeth. Then he froze, panic blowing his pupils wide. Deceit murmured, "We're _not_ going to the bathroom again. Can you stand?"

Virgil nodded, though he flinched when Deceit reached for him. The knowledge that it was daylight seemed to reach him through Thomas; he was jumpy in the hall, watching the stairs like they might bring forth a Light Side at any moment. Deceit could sympathize.

He closed the bathroom door and locked it behind them; only then did he relax, letting a hint of scales creep across his borrowed face. In the mirror he caught a glint of bitter yellow, snake eye reasserting its presence- but his attention was on Virgil, weak on his feet and fearfully, deliberately unguarded. He thought of sleeping beside him that night in his room and felt absurdly like crying.

"First things first," Deceit said, "sit in the bathtub, please. I can't guarantee you won't bleed, and I'd rather not leave a mess." Virgil choked in a breath, eyes going wet, and the ambiguity of his phrasing hit the next second. Absolutely genius, the smoothest Deceit had _ever_ been- "Definitely what you're thinking, you paranoid ass. I'm _not_ only fixing your mouth."

Virgil sniffled, wiping his eyes impatiently, then climbed into the bathtub and crossed his arms, refusing to meet Deceit's eyes. He didn't seem to trust him, but his thoughts didn't stink of denial; whatever he was telling himself, he believed it wholeheartedly.

His mouth was red where the stitches pulled his skin, scabbed at the corners and caked in dried blood, and the mutilation was even more grotesque in the fluorescent light. Deceit tried not to look at them too closely. 

He was getting rid of them. That was all that mattered.

Deceit rested a knee on the edge of the tub, propping himself against the wall with one hand and using another to cup Virgil's jaw. Anxiety shivered at the contact. "Sssshh, ssshh. I won't hurt you, not intentionally. It wouldn't serve me to hurt you, not at all, do you understand? Not in the least."

He worked the jaws of the wire cutter under the first metal stitch, blocking out Virgil's muffled cry, and snipped it apart- then the next, and the next, until Virgil's mouth was ravaged anew and the bloody wires stuck out like barbs. Deceit snarled to himself and said, as soothingly as he could past the rage, "This part will hurt. I _won't_ try to be quick." He drew the bits of wire out of his flesh as Virgil tried desperately to be still and quiet; he shushed him when he was done, dabbing at his mouth with toilet paper to staunch the blood.

Virgil took it from him, pressing it over his lips, then lurched out of the tub and threw up in the toilet. Deceit turned the shower on- both to wash away evidence and hide the retching- and Virgil rasped, hunched and miserable, "Thanks. You didn't have to do that."

His voice sounded like it had been through a wood chipper. Deceit had never been so relieved to hear it in his life. "I can totally imagine what I would have done otherwise," he said, because the alternative was bursting into tears. "Disregard for life-and-death situations is the _best_ mark of a good ally, in my experience."

"Life and death only counts if you can't come back," Virgil said. He struggled to his feet, collapsing into the counter, and washed his mouth out with water. Deceit handed him the thermos. He didn't open it. "Why are you even _doing _this?" he asked, sounding infinitely exhausted. "You- you know you don't have to help, right? I'm the one who messed up. I wouldn't blame _you_ for it." His eyes were glued to the floor, shoulders braced. "I don't even know what you're _doing_ right now."

"Sitting, mostly." Virgil glowered, tensed at the same time for a blow, and Deceit explained, "Thomas _wouldn't_ listen better if he empathized with you."

Virgil stared. Deceit nodded at the broth, and he glanced down like he'd forgotten it, then unscrewed the top and took the straw. His face when he realized it was _warm _almost made Deceit smile.

"At the moment, I'm impersonating you so the Light Sides don't become suspicious," Deceit continued. Virgil watched him guardedly. "I may as well improve your image while I'm doing so. They're already on the verge of accepting you."

"Like- tolerating me?"

"Like moving your room."

"That's not a thing," Virgil rasped after a long moment. "I, they- _can't_, they wouldn't-"

"God forbid you leave the manipulation to me," Deceit snapped. "_Your_ job is convalescence. The rest is totally relevant right now."

"It's relevant to me if you make them think I'm a different person!" Virgil spat, then broke down coughing. He flinched when Deceit reached out to him; Deceit pulled back his hand. "I'm _me. _Even if you make me seem all lovey-dovey and, and _cooperative- _there's no way they won't see through it. They'll figure it out as soon as we switch back."

"I've known you for years," Deceit said, annoyed. "Don't you think I've figured out how to impersonate you by now?"

"If you're really acting like me, they'll hate you just as much," Virgil snapped. Deceit drew back his lips in an instinctive snarl, and he shrank back, close to panicked tears. "You _know_ it's true."

How very like Virgil, to be contrary in close quarters with someone he thought was a threat. Deceit said past the lump in his throat, "I know you _believe_ it's true. That isn't the same thing."

"Don't lecture me on truth," Virgil said, curling into himself. "You're going to get yourself hurt. As soon as they find out-"

"_If_ they find out-"

"They will," Virgil hissed. "You think Logan won't notice anything? I'm Anxiety. I'm going to flinch, or freak out at the wrong time, and if I'm up here too often I won't be able to hide it. Even if we switch at the right time, this whole thing is doomed."

Deceit said, "I've already flinched," and Virgil froze, shadowy terror coalescing around them and dimming the lights. "I'm _not_ rather certain it frightened Roman more than it did me." He made a show of getting the blood out from under his nails. "If something frightens you, brush it off as part of being Anxiety."

"That _worked?"_

"Morality wasn't concerned," Deceit admitted, and Virgil snorted. "I'm beginning to suspect it's his default state."

"Basically." Virgil's smile disappeared, and he hugged his legs to his chest. "Dee," he said, quieter, "if this does work-" He cut himself off, shivering, and kept his eyes down. "Even if it doesn't, I'll owe you _everything_. I owe you everything now."

"I'm aware," Deceit said, and Virgil shrank down. Of course Deceit was aware. Any Dark Side would want something for a favor of this magnitude. If it had been Deceit, he would have been calculating a way to repay his savior before they thought up any unbearable demands- but Deceit couldn't think of a plausible one. He wanted Virgil safe. That was immaterial. He wanted Remus and the Light Sides safe, wanted _Thomas_ safe, but that was hardly a _reason_-

Virgil took the silence badly. He swallowed visibly and asked, voice breaking, "How do you want me?"

The words didn't process. Deceit stared, persistent exhaustion slowing his thoughts, and saw Virgil try to smile, resigned conciliation plastered over trapped-animal terror. "It's okay," he said, and the worst part was that he believed it, that they'd treated him so badly that he thought this was all he could give, that he wasn't so much more than a _body-_ "I get it. You didn't want to freak me out, or make me stop cooperating or whatever. But I- I mean, you're not Mal. You're you. If you want to fuck me, or have me blow you, or _anything_, I- I'm not about to fight you. You can do what you want with me." He looked down, mouth twisting in that familiar cocktail of commiseration and self-hatred, inviting him to share the joke. "I didn't even owe everyone else, so. That's even less of a reason to be a crybaby. Not like I have anything _else _to give you."

Bile rose in his throat_. _Deceit had to respond but he _couldn't,_ all he had was rage and it refused to take form, to become something he could _use- _

The others had had Virgil for a week, and neither Remus nor Deceit had come to the rescue. Virgil hadn't been able to save himself. He'd been helpless and _useless_ for all but one thing, humiliated so utterly that he thought his contributions to Thomas's wellbeing weren't enough by themselves, not even for Self-Preservation.

Malice had framed his torture as a punishment. Of course he thought he'd done something wrong_._

"My name is Janus," Deceit said, unable to bear it, and the words came from miles away. Virgil jerked and stared, and Deceit froze in horror- but the words were out there. He had to spin them. "Tell it to Remus and no one else," he said, putting as much weight behind it as he could manage in his state. _This is true, believe this, _remember_ this. These are the words that matter. _"That's my price, Virgil. Do you understand?"

"Janus," Virgil repeated, and Deceit- _Janus_\- flinched. He'd thought about it so long, choosing the perfect cadence, the perfect meaning, but hearing it aloud felt like admitting to something wordless and terrible. How dare he presume to give himself a name, when those were for Light Sides, for the Sides who were never meant for the Dark in the _first place_\- "I thought you didn't have a name."

"I didn't lie," Janus said, and Virgil looked at him like a stranger wearing Deceit's skin. The expression flayed him raw.

When the question came it was weak and childish, not daring to hope. "You don't want anything else?"

"If I'd wanted sex," Deceit said as honestly as he could, "I'd proposition Remus. I wouldn't brutalize my own ally for having the gall to look out for Thomas' best interests."

"Right," Virgil said raggedly. "Sure." He met Deceit's eyes, tentative. "Whatever you say, Janus."

"_Do_ wear it out," Deceit rasped, helping Virgil to his feet. The other Side's wrists were too thin, marked with scabs and bruises, but he let Deceit pull him up, leaned into him like a trusted friend.

Deceit's heart felt lighter than it had in days.

*

Logan reappeared at precisely two in the afternoon, four hours after he'd left and three after the conversation with Virgil. "Ah. Anxiety. Are you still intent on joining us for Roman's little venture?"

Deceit couldn't detect any annoyance in his tone, but the question made his shoulders rise. He was sitting on the back of the couch, far enough that he could run if he absolutely had to, but in his current state he doubted he could manage it. The ceiling lights were growing halos, the world getting fuzzy when he moved his head; he kept having to remind himself to breathe. "Yes," he bit out, wondering what Logic would do if he fainted. "I do. Is that a problem?"

Was it _wise? _Of course not. But Virgil would have no reason to refuse the invitation, especially if he were trying to ingratiate himself with Thomas's main Sides, and the scheme was paramount. "Not particularly," Logan said, though he checked his notebook to be sure. "I'm sure we can mitigate your effect on Roman's creation for a few hours."

His effect on- _shit. _He was _totally _competent at his job, he definitely hadn't forgotten that Anxiety would affect a daydream differently than Deceit would. Whatever the mitigation efforts were, Deceit desperately hoped they were strong enough that a lack of things to mitigate wouldn't be noticed. Let Creativity think he was just that good. His ego was Deceit's greatest advantage. "Whatever," he said with a shrug. "What's Princey even got you doing in there?"

"Cavorting, mostly," Logan said, "though he has created some truly fascinating flower structures. While on principle I can't appreciate the blanketflowers, modeled as they are off of the wildflower Gaillardia for the sake of a _pun_-" Deceit nodded along, committing some phrases to memory to prove later that he'd been listening. Making others feel listened to was something of a shortcut to making yourself irreplaceable in their regard, and for all his claimed objectivity, Deceit suspected that Logan badly needed someone to listen to him. That was a niche Virgil could fill with relative ease.

Logan beckoned him into the pillow fort- which by then had devoured nearly all of the Commons- and Deceit ducked under the draped blankets into a world of plush wonder. He blinked hard, trying to make his eyes adjust to the brightness, and slowly the immense detail of the construction was made clear. Roman hadn't contented himself with a fort that an engineer could make, no; that would have been too easy. He'd created a fort so impossible that it would have set H.P. Lovecraft gibbering. He'd made a _world_.

The sky was a baby blue blanket, and the ground was picnic blankets laid end to end, checkered and striped and patterned with smiley cartoon bees out to the horizon. The mountains in the distance looked like a childish tapestry, misty gray felt stitched into the sides of the world, and every few yards there was a clump of fabric wildflowers waving in fabricated wind.

Deceit squinted up at the yellow fleece Sun and was pleasantly surprised at its dimness; his headache actually receded. "Well, Damasked Bandit?" Remus's brother demanded. He and Patton were lounged on the biggest picnic blanket, surrounded by pillows in the coziest nest Deceit could ever have imagined. "What do you think?"

Lies deserted him. "It's beautiful," he admitted, and Roman's face lit up with delighted shock. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Of course you haven't!" Roman declared, springing to his feet. Thankfully Deceit was too exhausted to flinch. "It's a purely original creation, I've been slaving over it for _weeks_-"

"And boy was the effort worth it!" Patton piped up, hugging a giant stuffed bee. It wriggled out of his hold and lifted into the air, buzzing softly to a flower-shaped pillow and flopping back into a plush. "Look at all the detail here! There's downybees, chinchillows, cottontail bunnies... it's polyestroardinary!" Logan groaned. "I'm really grateful Roman decided to Sherpa it with us."

One of the aforementioned chinchillows- a chinchilla made entirely of heart-patterned chenille- hopped up and snuffled at Deceit's shoe. His eyes stung. "That's a lotta puns even for you, Pat," he said thickly, telling himself Virgil would've sounded the same way. He picked his way over the blankets to sit by Morality, Logic perching primly on a blanket patterned after the Periodic Table. The chinchillow followed, draping itself over his foot; Deceit picked it up, marveling at the softness, and passed it carefully over to Patton. Best not to push his luck.

"Aw, look, it has a little _nose," _Patton squealed, hugging it close. Roman grinned at him, face going pink.

"Its anatomy is very nearly accurate," Logan said, already nose deep in a book. Deceit wondered if that was the purpose of this structure- novelty and relaxation, something to settle even workaholic _Logic_\- and was chilled by guilt so intense it felt like a living thing, writhing inside him and digging in claws. His throat felt tight.

Virgil was back in the upstairs closet, lucid but terrified, trusting Deceit to make things something close to alright. He was hiding and hurt, Remus worse off, and Deceit was playing in his guise, having fun while they knew nothing but blood and pain- while none of the Dark Sides knew anything but, so what was _he _doing so phenomenally far from his rightful place_-_

He closed his eyes and reminded himself that this farce wasn't _for _him. Virgil would have this every damn week if Deceit could hold himself together. The Light Sides would see the softness in him and allow it, tolerate Anxiety along with it, and Deceit would go back into the Dark with Remus.

One breath. Two. Deceit opened his eyes and said, "So do you guys just lay around in here or what?"

"We were actually about to play a game!" Patton said, and somehow they were all roped in, volleyball to card games to seeing who could come up with the most outlandish names for the animals they found. Roman frequently won that, naturally, though Patton was close behind and Logan showed an alacrity for wordplay; Deceit had to check himself with the reminder that Virgil was _terrible _at these kinds of games and couldn't be expected to come up with elaborate puns.

They were two hours in, falling into a comfortable languor that nearly pulled Deceit under with the rest of them, when the daydream's constant prying started to see results.

Daydream Mode was familiar to Deceit through Remus, though in his case it was usually weaponized. It took bits and pieces from every Side within its radius, not just its creator: hence Logan's science-themed blankets and Patton's perfect sunny day, though they were content enough with Roman's imaginings to let him hold the reins. Deceit would have been just as content, if it weren't for Virgil's situation.

He couldn't stop thinking about whether he was hurt or scared, whether Remus was, whether something was happening in the Dark Side that he couldn't afford to miss and what would they do to _him _if he succeeded, once they realized Anxiety hadn't ducked out but escaped completely?

Stitches on his mouth. Semen all over his body, and he'd been tortured, set out for anyone to use like a fucking _toy, _because someone had wanted to spice things up and spite Deceit in one fell swoop.

Deceit sat up and tried to calm his heartbeat, to keep his facade intact. He wanted to hiss and snarl and threaten, to blackmail, to _lie,_ make himself more of a threat than he was- but he was already safe. This was already a form they might sympathize with. He couldn't jeopardize the operation for the sake of a burgeoning panic attack.

The thoughts came faster, beating against his skull like frightened birds: watching and waiting as Virgil screamed, as Jealousy gripped his hips and rutted into him and he couldn't get away, he was crying begging whimpering and he _couldn't get away _and Deceit had done _nothing-_

Patton struggled upright, gasping and clutching the bee to his chest; Logan's relaxed expression tensed, and Roman glared at Deceit in outrage. "What- how are you doing that, I've been blocking you off this whole time! If you've chosen _now _to ruin our fun, I swear I'll never forgive you. We were doing so well!"

"Roman," Patton said, pale, "I don't think it's Anxiety."

Deceit couldn't breathe. There was a cut across his throat and he couldn't staunch the flow, couldn't inflate his lungs while they were already filled with blood. He was dying, falling apart, returning to the firmament until the Mindscape crafted him together again, and it had been a surprise attack but they hadn't focused on him which meant the focus was someone _else_-

And if they knew he wasn't Anxiety what else did they know, what would they do to them for the intrusion? If they saw his wounds, if they found Virgil, if the disguise fell-

The Light Sides weren't looking at him. He stifled his gasp and spat blood into his hands, switching them out before anyone could notice, desperate not to let it drip onto the blankets- but they still weren't watching him. They were watching the horizon as it charred black and smoldered, rotted through with maggots and dribbled decay. Fire chewed across the sky and sent it down in flaming pieces; Roman yanked Logan out of the way, Deceit pulling Patton closer to the group to shield him.

There was a silhouette approaching through the flames. Lust and gore and murderous impulse all rolled together in one Side, lovely and achingly familiar, coming _closer_-

"Remus," Roman snarled, deadly sword slicing the air, and Deceit cursed himself for a fool. This part of the Mindscape was just as hostile to Remus as the Dark Side. How could he have _forgotten_ that- in fact, what was Remus doing here at all? Virgil and Deceit weren't even in the Dark Side, but they were also clearly alive. What possible reason did Remus have to harass his brother now? He should have been hiding in the Imagination, waiting for his allies to return. He should have been somewhere safe.

Roman demanded, an unknowing echo: "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Am I worrying you, Roman?" Remus asked, and Deceit's heart clenched; he was smoldering and covered in rotted fabric, but under that he was limping, holding himself stiff, bleeding from his forehead and mouth. Someone had caught him, then, even if he'd wriggled away. The others were enraged enough to risk going after a Side who tore off limbs on impulse. "_Scaring_ you?"

"Of course not!"

"Good, you prissy little diva, 'cause I'm not here for you!" Remus's fevered eyes found Deceit's- found _Virgil's, _because right now he would feel like Virgil and Remus had disappeared even before Deceit had- and locked on. "I'm here for _him."_

"For Anxiety?" Roman glanced between them, obviously lost. Patton inched closer to Logan like a buffalo circling its young. "Why?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to," Remus said, and suddenly he was beside Deceit, yanking him away from the group and grinning into his face. "I'm the one who should be asking shit! See, I'm missing a few important things."

What the hell did he think Anxiety was doing here? Did he think he'd somehow resurrected, or- no, if Virgil seemed fine and Deceit was missing in action, he might think it hadn't been _Virgil_ hurt at all. He might think Deceit was still hurt somewhere, out of his reach. He might be _terrified._

Suddenly the situation made perfect sense. It was a game they had to play, acting as enemies to keep weakness out of sight: hisses and threats and dark insinuations_, _manhandling and badmouthing, all to keep the others from realizing the extent of their alliance. A claim of ownership, to keep one or the other from a beating they might not survive. Harassment masking deep, manic concern.

Remus was Creativity, too, and he'd always had trouble articulating emotions that weren't curiosity or demented rage. Of course this was how he'd approach Virgil when he didn't trust the Light Sides to be nice about things. It would even be reasonable if it didn't run the risk of a fight with his uninjured twin. If Roman thought Remus meant to harm Logan or Patton, or even Thomas-

"Let go of me," Deceit snapped, but since no one else was facing his direction he let his eye flash yellow, just for a moment. Remus's grip lightened. "Why would I even want your stuff? It's probably covered in maggots."

"You might like maggots," Remus said. "Might _prefer_ them, right now! Ever wonder what it'd be like having your mouth sewn shut?" Deceit felt copper fill his mouth and tried to jerk away, to keep up the facade; behind him, one of the Light Sides was protesting. "You wouldn't be able to eat or drink or scream, just lie there and **_take it and die-"_**

_Where is Virgil, _was the translation, _where is he, what the hell happened- _but Deceit couldn't answer his questions here, not in this guise, and it was doubtful they'd be left alone. Roman wouldn't trust two unguarded Dark Sides in his creation, not when he'd spent so long fashioning it from nothing.

"You let go of him!" Patton snapped, grabbing Deceit's other arm and glaring. "Whatever you think he did, that's no reason to be _violent."_

"Escalation is antithetical to rational conversation," Logan agreed, nearly bristling. Remus's fire had eaten through his notebook and his blanket both; he was standing at Roman's other side, veritably seething, and the air around him was getting sharp. Whatever hold the imagined surroundings had on him must have shrunk to nothing.

Deceit remembered tales from Virgil of Logan striding impatiently through magma or walking miles in a step through the Imagination, too annoyed to obey the laws of imagined worlds, and his stomach filled with ice. Logic could be hurt if the other Side meant it enough, he was _sure _of it, but Remus relied on the advantage of Imagination. Anything short of his morningstar might not even make a dent, and if the Light Sides ganged up on him, he might not get away at all.

Logan continued, "If you truly have a grievance-"

"The only thing escalating here is my dick," Remus snarled. "_This_ isn't violent. What's violent is if someone took poor crybaby Anxiety and cut into him while he begged, and said the fun's only _beginning _and made him take off the rest of his clothes! Then they'd climb on _top!"_

Screaming, muffled and horrified and desperately scared, desperately tired- Deceit choked on the intrusive thought, Remus's anger lashing out without a target, and the blood welled up on his lips. The jostling was getting to him, death-pains rearing their heads, but if he spat blood it would draw too much attention, might ruin everything.

Remus was still talking, holding Deceit close like a hostage, and _he _could tell Remus was injured and terrified but they were hearing his disordered descriptions as _threats_\- "Step away from the emo," Roman gritted out.

"Roman, please do _not_ join the altercation-"

"He's already shown he's not willing to talk," Roman snapped, and Patton tried to step between Deceit and Remus, putting himself in the middle of the fight. Deceit could see the train wreck about to happen. Worse, he could see how easily his disguise could fail, balanced on a pin as it was, and his headache was back with a vengeance. One wrong step would ruin everything.

There was blood at his lips, and if it spilled over there would be questions Deceit couldn't answer. He looked desperately to Remus- this could _not _be where he faltered- and parted his lips ever so slightly, praying he'd take the hint. Then he tried again to jerk away, feigning the switch from freeze to _flight_, and hissed, "Look, could you _please _just-"

The Duke yanked him into a vicious, bruising kiss, and the blood in their mouths mingled. His hand fisted in Deceit's hair, other arm gripping tight, and Deceit struggled because Virgil would have struggled, but he didn't have the strength to pull away if he'd wanted to. Remus's tongue darted in- honestly, did this _seem_ like the time- and Deceit made a shocked, terrified sound, the exact echo of Virgil's just a few days before.

Someone yanked him back, pushing him into Roman, and Remus fell back with a dull _clang. _He sprang to his feet a second later, thank God, but it was too late to go after Deceit again. Patton was already standing between them, frying pan in hand. "You- how _could_ you- don't you _touch him!"_

"What's wrong, Popunzel?" Remus asked, world souring around him. Deceit found himself pulled back, surrounded on all sides like a cherished ally. His mind was blank with shock. "You want him all for yourself? Pretty greedy, if you want my opinion."

"Leave," Logan growled, to Deceit's incredulity. "You're creating a disturbance."

Remus's eyes flicked to Deceit, and he nodded as shallowly as he could. "Damn," Remus said with a pout, red beading at his lips. "And here I was just starting to have fun. Look me up when you come back, Anxiety." His grin was manic and bloody. "I've got a _lot _of ideas."

He disappeared. Deceit relaxed_,_ and Roman let go of him, settling the pillow world back to its original state. Deceit wiped the blood from his mouth and made a face.

There was a silence. 

"That was... unpleasant," Logan finally said. He seemed at a loss for how else to describe it.

"That was horrible!" Patton exclaimed, on the verge of tears. "We were having so much fun and- oh, Anxiety, I don't mean to say that's the only reason we were upset when you're the one he _kissed-"_

"I'm used to it," Deceit said, bemused- not that Remus randomly kissed Virgil, but his general conduct was hardly unexpected- and Patton's lip wobbled. "It's not a big deal," he said, because of course it wasn't_,_ then added defensively, "And I didn't steal anything of his."

"Of course you didn't!" Patton protested, entirely without evidence. How would he know Virgil was telling the truth? No one with a hint of sense would _admit _to attracting an enemy's ire, not when their own position was so uncertain. That would be idiotic.

"It's not as if the Duke needs a reason to intrude on my affairs," Roman said darkly. "That he would destroy so much work, however, and assault a Side in my company-"

"Yeah, well," Deceit said, looking at Creativity like Virgil had once looked at him, surprised at his aid and unreasonably grateful for the hint of it, ruefully apologetic that it was needed. "Thanks. For chasing him off, I guess."

"Of course," Roman said, and Deceit couldn't read his expression. "What else is a hero for, than to rescue those in need?"

Virgil had gone from the villain to _those in need _from just that one exchange. Creativity's ego was the way to his heart after all. And Morality's empathy was the way to _his, _which pulled Logic along through sheer biased gravity-

The plan was working, and Remus had given it a major boost. Deceit drew into himself, affecting Virgil's customary nerves, and afforded them a tiny smile.

Roman actually smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: rape flashbacks, offers of sexual favors, expectation of abuse, unwanted kissing, (perceived) rape threat
> 
> Edits may occur later, when I come back and inevitably find a typo I missed on the fourth readthrough. Such is life

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: this chapter includes a graphic depiction of rape/torture, specifically: intercrural sex, finger sucking, unwanted grinding, groping, someone having his mouth sewn shut, casual murder, serious burns, knife wounds, public humiliation, and being tied up for long periods.
> 
> It's... not a fun time.


End file.
